Page 18 of Love.V2 (Occupational Hazards #2)

Tess

“You come here often?”

There were a lot of things I’d missed about Dylan, and his voice was easily top three. I’d always loved it. The underlying rumble of laughter, a foundational warmth that drew people to him and made them want to stay awhile.

I probably missed it the most because that’s what I lost first. Sentences trailed off as his eyes darted over his phone screen.

Nearly silent dinners when he sat, visibly exhausted, across the table, picking at his food.

Early mornings alone in the giant house he’d supposedly bought for us, but spent no time in.

Even as I turned, his corny line making me smile, it was those thoughts that poked a pinprick of worry in the fragile hope I’d been carrying around all day.

To say Dylan was reluctant to leave my apartment last night was an understatement.

He’d made me choose a restaurant right then and there.

“Somewhere you’ve wanted to go but haven’t had a chance to yet,” he’d practically begged.

After he’d booked a table, he’d forwarded three different calendar invites and email confirmations.

“You’ll be there, right? Tomorrow?” His eyes had pleaded as he’d left, spooked by the awkward moment with the condoms and everything after. His concern was tinged with a wild sort of happiness like he couldn’t believe I’d actually agreed to his crazy “start from scratch” scheme.

I couldn’t believe it, either. Could we really start over? He’d said it wasn’t complicated, but it was. All the memories of our first years together and our bitter ending clashed with the tingling anticipation swirling in my chest.

But one thought of those dark, pleading eyes last night made me want to try.

“First time. How about you?” I spun on the barstool and nearly teetered off of it.

He looked good. Deliciously, remarkably good.

I had griped at myself all afternoon as I pinned up my hair and tried on three different shades of lipstick until I’d settled on the one I wore now.

It’s just Dylan , I’d whispered, adding another layer of blush to my cheeks.

But he’d said it was a first date, so I’d prepared accordingly.

He had, too. His crisp white shirt peeked out from the sharp lines of his blazer. His jaw was shaved clean, and I caught a whiff of the light, spicy aftershave I loved. The one he only wore for special occasions.

My teeth dug into my bottom lip. I was a special occasion .

“My first time, too, if you can believe it.”

I drew back in a gasp. “No. What are the odds?”

“Fate.” He was grinning like a lunatic, but then again, so was I. “I’m Dylan.”

My eyebrows raised at his offered hand. When he’d said we were starting from scratch, I’d figured we’d go more for first date territory than a complete do-over.

But apparently he’d bought into the “pretend we don’t know each other” angle.

His eyes sparkled with mischief and interest in a way he hadn’t looked at me in so long. I was dying for more of it.

“Tess.” My palm slid into his. An eruption of butterflies in my stomach. He gazed at where our skin touched. Was he thinking about last night, too? Not the condoms, but…before that?

“Would you believe, Tess, that I just happen to have a reservation for two and no one to dine with tonight?”

“Wow, it really must be fate.”

“Must be.” His soft words were still teasing, but they sounded like something else, too. When I looked up to see his gaze roaming my face, the butterflies transformed into flashing drones, sending urgent signals through my veins.

Dylan Morris is looking at you like he wants to eat you.

As he pulled my chair out after the hostess showed us to our table, when his fingers brushed lightly down my arms, I wondered if this starting over business just might work.

***

“Creative director at an advertising agency. Impressive.”

I admired his commitment to the bit, but as our salads were placed in front of us, I had to wonder just how far he’d take it. The whole night? Into next week? What happened when we saw each other at the office on Monday? Did we lead secret double-lives now, pretending to be strangers?

I hummed, scooping a black olive over to the side of my plate. “It’s fulfilling. I never loved a job until this one. ”

“That’s incredible.” I tried to ignore the pride shining out of him. That wasn’t first date stuff, but it still made me feel warm inside. “Everyone deserves to love what they do. Being miserable at a job can wear you down.”

I cleared my throat, thrilled and cautious about the opening he’d given me.

“Do you? Love your job?” What exactly is going on with your career, Dylan?

It skirted the rules. A normal first-date question, layered with so many pieces of history and hurt, the subtext felt like it had stepped onto the table and started doing a striptease.

Dylan took a sip of water, a small line between his brows. “I used to. There are still things I like about it. I’ve realized recently that work isn’t everything. I’m in the process of re-prioritizing.”

My throat went dry. The next first date question, the follow-up, would have been something like, “What are you trying to prioritize more of?”

The answer, of course, echoed in Dylan’s face. Determination flashed across his features, then vanished. Me.

“Work-life balance is important.” A cop out. A cliché that kept us floating on the surface of the conversation, ignoring the twelve-year-old chasm underneath us. His eyes tightened at the corners, but in an instant, they smoothed. A slow smile unfurled.

“I agree. What else do you do, Tess? Outside of being a very important and talented creative professional? ”

“You can hardly call me talented. You’ve never seen my work.” A bite of salad gave me a moment to think, to escape the close call of the conversational sand trap we’d almost fallen into.

“I think you’ll find I’m an uncanny judge of character.”

“Oh, yes, I’m sure you know more about me than I could ever imagine.”

His eyes creased for real this time. “Not nearly as much as I’d like. You mentioned your gym earlier.” His words were a purr, curling across the table towards me. “What else do you do for fun , Tess?”

The way he said it made his question seem indecent. Now I was definitely thinking about last night. The feel of his hands on me. What could have happened if things had gone differently.

“I, um…” My mind blanked, and it took another few seconds of stuttering and searching for an answer before I realized…I didn’t have an answer. “Um…”

My routine consisted solely of the gym, my apartment, and work. I hardly even watched any new TV, opting to loop all my bingey comfort shows on rewind.

“You said you moved to the city a few months ago. What have you explored since you got here? Parks? Museums? As a recent transplant, myself, you have to tell me where the action is.” He stole the olives from the edge of my plate as he threw me a bone.

Could he see the dawning realization on my face as I discovered in real-time that I was the most boring person in the world?

“I haven’t…” That couldn’t be right, could it? I’d been here for six months and I hadn’t been to a single museum? There were days I’d literally begged Dylan to go to a new exhibit with me in Nashville, only to miss it when he, inevitably, backed out or couldn’t make time.

“You’re an artist, right? Working on anything in particular these days?” He was so nice. I was drowning, and he was tossing these conversation starters at me like life preservers. And I couldn’t grab them.

As they had been since last night, his words replayed through my mind. I’m a different person since I met you all those years ago.

I’d been tipping them around in my brain, tumbling them like river rocks over and over, thinking. Abruptly, the stark contrast between that first night at the frat house and this night hit me like a ton of bricks.

He wasn’t the only one who had changed.

“Tess?”

“I’m sorry. I’ve just realized I’m…I think I’m boring.” I could barely meet his eyes, but I saw enough of his face to see the quirk of his mouth.

“That’s impossible. You’re the least boring person I know.”

“I used to be.” I watched the people on the sidewalk pass the restaurant, painfully aware that they probably all had rich and meaningful lives, and I had…

work. How depressing. I’d sworn to never get caught up in a relationship where I’d be second to someone’s job again.

Only to realize now, I’d been putting myself second to my own.

“I don’t know what happened. I work, go to the gym, and…

that’s it. Even my TV shows are boring.”

“You are still new to the city. I’m sure it’s an adjustment…” Dylan trailed off as I shook my head. God, he was so nice , giving me chance after chance, excuse after excuse. Reasons to justify why my tiny, inconsequential life was as tiny and inconsequential as I’d let it become.

My mind cast back to those last years in Nashville. Had I been this lifeless then, too? I’d dragged myself to yoga every once in a while. Lexi had usually invited me for drinks every few weeks.

I’d told myself I needed to get out of town, that Dylan was the one weighing me down. He’d walled himself off in his corner office, and I’d beat my head against the door too many times. When I left, I’d thought I’d be happy again. Light and free.

Six months later, I was neither.

It was me . I blinked hard, eyes unfocused on my salad. I was the problem.

Cue Taylor Swift.

“Hey.” Dylan could certainly feel me spinning out across the table. I looked up into his familiar brown eyes. “Don’t beat yourself up. I’ve been doing a lot of soul-searching over the last few months, and I realized work has become my whole personality. Like for years.”

“I think…I think I used to be fun, though.”

“Me too. I think.”