Serena

Haven sleeps on the drive home.

Moonlight emphasizes Derek’s handsome profile, and I catch myself watching him with side eyes.

We don’t speak, though I’m not sure what there is to talk about. After the basement rendezvous, Derek mumbled some excuse about getting Haven back in time for bed and got us the hell out of there.

Demi totally knew. How couldn’t she? We came upstairs looking like the cat that ate the canary, or in Derek’s case . . .

The drive home only takes twenty minutes, and Derek carries his sleeping daughter up to his apartment, tucking her in as I get the lights. She doesn’t wake. Not once. And I’m kind of disappointed because I enjoyed reading her a bedtime story the night before. I’d never done it before, and it was sweet and relaxing, and her hair smelled like peach shampoo, and she wanted to hold my hand.

“I was thinking,” I say to Derek after he gently pulls Haven’s door closed.

He faces me, an eyebrow raised, and points to the living room. His hand presses into my left shoulder as he escorts me away from Haven’s hallway.

“What were you thinking?” he asks.

“After the conservatorship is dissolved,” I say, “I was thinking I should go back to the city.”

Derek frowns. “You’re ready for that?”

“What am I doing here?” I spent all afternoon asking myself this question. “Holing up in your place, hiding from the rest of the world like I’m some sort of fragile. That’s not me. I don’t want to hide anymore. I want to go back to the city, face those assholes I used to call friends and give them something new to gossip about. Page Six would have a heyday if they knew what Veronica did to me.”

“Serena.” Derek places his hand on my arm and moves closer. “I won’t tell you where to live or what to do, but if you’re going to do this, it needs to be for the right reasons. Going back so you can stick it to those assholes is the last reason you should go.”

I pull my arm from his hold and collapse into his sofa, staring at a dead TV screen on the other side of the room.

“Doesn’t it get exhausting?” he asks.

“Excuse me?” I turn toward him.

“Living for everyone else. Your life is so magnified and scrutinized. I don’t know how you do it.”

“It’s all I’ve ever known.” My hands fold in my lap. “I don’t know any other way. I wish I did. I wish I grew up in a big blue house with a bunch of sisters and two parents who were crazy about each other, but that’s not what I had. It’s not who I am.”

Derek takes a seat next to me. “The past doesn’t matter as much as you think it does. Focus on the here and now. What can you do today, right now, that’s going to make tomorrow better?”

“Work out?” I bite a smile and sink back into the cushions.

“I’m being serious, Serena.” Derek’s eyes narrow, and he shifts away from me.

I reach for his arm, pulling him closer. “I’m kidding. You were so serious, and I don’t want to talk about this anymore. It makes me sad.”

“See?” Derek huffs, his head tilting. “You’re running back to the very life you refuse to talk about because it makes you sad.”

“All right.” I sit up straight. “Let’s talk about my alternatives then. I can stay in this city, where nobody knows me, where I have no friends, no social life, nothing but you. And we can hole up together for the foreseeable future, and you can remind me every day about how you’re this bachelor and you don’t do this and you don’t do that and nothing means anything.”

Derek leans back, studying me. “Why are you making this about me now?”

“I’m not. I’m just saying, there’s nothing for me here.”

“You didn’t come here to find something. You came here to escape.”

“And I feel just as confined, Derek.” I lean forward, my elbows on my knees and my head in my hands. “I’ve been here two days, and I feel like I’m just as isolated as before. Don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful. I’d much rather be here than at Belcourt, but I’m still alone.”

I’m still lonely.

Derek blows a hard breath through terse lips. “I don’t want that for you. I was only trying to help.”

I place my hand over his. “I know. I’m not upset. I’m just saying . . .”

“You don’t want to be here anymore.”

He says it so easily—the words that have been stuck on the tip of my tongue since this afternoon. I passed a small boutique with a green awning over the door, and it reminded me of the little shop up the street from my old apartment on Lexington. And it made me homesick for the city. For life. For faceless strangers. And excitement. And the kind of energy that made me feel like a million bucks on the worst of days.

And then I lunched at a little sidewalk café, and the server was the sweetest elderly man in a gray beret. He gave me extra bread, told me I had the warmest smile he’d ever seen, and that I reminded him of his late wife when I spoke.

You don’t get that kind of service in the city.

After that, I waltzed into a pet shop and held a puppy. The woman behind the cash register asked if I had a yard, and I thought of the shared rooftop terrace in my building and the small patch of grass shared by all the building dogs.

I kissed the top of the pug puppy’s head and put him back after that.

When I left the pet store, I thought about what it might be like to buy a charming, pint-sized house with a big backyard in a quaint little town. The mere idea made me warm from the inside out, and I felt my heart getting too close to that heat, like a curious child drawn to a flickering candle flame.

So I snuffed it out.

And then Derek pulled up and invited me to his sister’s house.

“I like being here,” I say.

“You don’t have to lie.”

“But I miss my home.” I glance out the window at the sweeping view of a sparkling Rixton Falls at night. It’s nothing compared to New York, but it’s almost similar. I go to the window, pull in a deep breath, and wrap my arms around my sides.

A moment later, the warmth of Derek’s hands slides up my arms, and his body presses against my back.

I turn to face him. “What are you doing?”

Our eyes meet, and his hold a storm of emotions. Confusion. Excitement. Boldness.

“Don’t leave, Serena. Not yet.” His voice is low, his request firm.

“And why is that?”

He releases a frustrated groan, although I think his frustrations are self-directed. “I don’t know. Forget I said anything.”

“Goodnight, counselor.”

* * *

I lay low the rest of the weekend, letting Derek spend time with his daughter and burying myself in books I picked up at a local corner shop.

I also watch no fewer than three Lifetime Movies and binge watch an entire season of House of Cards—Derek’s recommendation.

In between the shows and the books, I find myself lost in thought, wondering if I should stay—for reasons unknown—or go.

Derek’s words echo in my mind—not his request for me to stick around longer, but his warning. He’s not what I need. He’s not what I’ll ever need. And the same is true for him.

We don’t belong together, even if our bodies beg to differ.

I should go.

Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not this week. But soon.