The Two Week Stand by Samantha Towle

thirty-three

Dillon

The coffee shop is busy, and the line is long. It’s midday on a busy Saturday. I’ve only been working here a week.

The day after the confrontation with my mum, I decided to drag my arse out of the house and back into the land of the living, and I saw the sign in the window that they were hiring. I’d gone to get a coffee and come back with a job. It’s not forever, but the pay’s okay, and the hours are good. It’ll do me until I figure out what I’m actually going to do with my life.

This isn’t my first busy day. Every day is busy here. People like their coffee. I do too.

I’m only taking the orders and working the till. I’m not making the coffee, thankfully; otherwise, the line would be even longer. I’m slow as shit.

I only get to make the coffee when the shop is quiet—to help me practice and hopefully get quicker.

I’m just glad to have a job and not be moping around Aunt Jenny’s house. And a job means, I’m earning money, so I can look at getting my own place soon. I keep throwing around the idea in my head of investing the money my grandparents left me and buying my own place, so I don’t keep paying rent, but something in my head stops me every time I have the thought of putting actual roots down here.

It’s weird that the thought of marrying Tim didn’t feel as much of a commitment as buying a house does.

If I didn’t already know that I was never meant to be with that guy, then that would tell me.

I heard from an old colleague that Tim is with some other poor, unsuspecting girl who’d started work there. I could send her a message and tell her what he’s like, but she probably wouldn’t believe me. I know I wouldn’t have in the beginning.

My mum hasn’t been back around or in touch with me since I poured my coffee on her. I still can’t believe I did that. Kind of funny that it was coffee that I poured on her, and then I got a job in a coffee shop. Some kind of weird irony or even maybe a joke in there.

I do feel sad that I no longer have a mum. But really, did I ever have one in her? No.

I have Aunt Jenny and my friends, and that’s enough for me right now.

I’ll start work on a new book soon. I was thinking I might write something outside of romance. Maybe crime. Or a good thriller. Get all my residual inner anger with my mum and West out in a book. Kill a few fictional characters to soothe my soul.

Do I still miss West? Of course I do. I miss him as much as I did last week, if not more. But I’m sure the ache of waking up every morning and remembering he’s not there and the loneliness of climbing into bed at night and not having him to hold on to … well, it will get easier. It has to.

I’m sure at some point, my memories of him will fade.

Honestly, the thought of forgetting what he looks and sounds like scares me because memories are all I have. Along with the photos that I took of us and him on my phone, which I really need to get around to deleting or I’ll never begin the process of moving on.

That’s it. Tonight, when I get home from work, I’ll delete them all from my phone.

I’ll also pick up a bottle of wine on my way home to help me get through the process. Maybe two bottles. I’m not working tomorrow, so why the hell not?

“That’ll be four pounds and eighty pence,” I say to the woman I’m currently serving.

She gets her credit card from her purse, so I select Card Payment on the touchscreen till. The receipt prints off with her order details, which I line up on the counter for my colleague Shannon, who’s busy making everyone’s orders, and then I hand over the payment receipt to the woman.

“If you could just wait over to the side, your order will be with you soon,” I tell her.

“What can I get you?” I turn my attention to the next customer, who’s just moved up to the counter.

And my heart nearly falls out of my chest. Actually, I think it might have because I can’t feel it beating in there anymore. I press a hand over it to check.

“Wh-wha-what are you doing here?” I stammer, staring into the face of the man who, the last time I saw, was telling me to have a safe flight.

“Hey, Double D,” West rasps in that voice of his that I’ve missed so much.

Goose bumps explode all over my arms.

He places his hands on the counter and leans in a little closer. I get a whiff of his scent, and longing explodes in my chest.

“How’ve you been?” he asks in a soft voice.

Two weeks of silence, and that’s what he asks me. How the hell does he think I’ve been doing since he tossed me out of his life? Shit. I’ve been shit.

And he’s standing here in a black T-shirt and blue jeans, his hair hidden under a ball cap, looking beautiful.

In this moment, I think I actually hate him.

The longing that was in my chest is shoved out and replaced with anger. “Why are you here?”

“Can we talk?”

“No. I’m working.”

“When’s your break?”

“In an hour.”

“Can we talk then?”

“I don’t know.”

“Dillon, please. I just want ten minutes of your time. That’s all I’m asking.”

I stare at him for a moment, weakening in his presence. “Okay. Ten minutes. But you’ll have to wait until I’m on my break.”

He smiles. “I’ll wait, and I’ll have a coffee while I do. You know how I take it.”

I fix my jaw. “I’ve forgotten.” Yes, I’m being childish and stubborn, but he doesn’t get to just turn up here, unannounced, at my place of work and ask to talk.

“Americano with milk,” he says softly.

“Medium or large?”

“Large, please.”

“Takeaway or staying in?”

“Staying,” he says, giving me a pointed look.

He’s staying here the whole hour?I was hoping he’d go and come back. For fuck’s sake. How am I supposed to get through the next hour with him here?

I ring his order through on the screen, my damn hand shaking the whole time.

“That’ll be two ninety-five,” I tell him without looking at him.

Using his Apple Pay on his watch—the fancy bastard—he pays for his coffee.

I print off both receipts, sliding one along the counter to Shannon and handing his to him, ensuring not to touch him.

“Wait over to the side, and your coffee will be ready soon,” I tell him before moving on to the next customer.

I can’t concentrate, knowing he’s standing there. I can feel him watching me. But I refuse to look at him.

I almost breathe a sigh of relief when his coffee’s ready and he goes and takes a seat, but he selects a table across from the counter, right in my eyeline.

The next hour is absolute torture. I can feel his eyes on me the whole time. Every time I chance a glance at him, he’s watching me.

I don’t even know why he’s here. He could be here to beg for my forgiveness and ask me to get back with him. Which I absolutely will not do.

Yeah, sure you won’t.

Or maybe he’s here because he feels guilty about how we ended and he wants to apologize and then go home. Although traveling four thousand miles to apologize does seem a little excessive when he could have just called.

I just wish I knew what he wanted. I’m driving myself nuts here. I could ask one of the girls to cover, so I could take my break early. But I don’t want to rush for him. I want to make him wait even if it means torturing myself in the process.

Finally.After what seems like an eternity, even though I’ve been busy this past hour, it’s time for my break.

I grab my bottle of water from under the counter, and on shaky legs, I walk over to him, my heart taking the back door exit. My mouth dries, and I can no longer feel my legs shaking. I’m assuming they’ve gone numb.

I slide into the chair across from him. Setting my bottle on the table, I curl my hands around it. “You have ten minutes,” I tell him. “But first, I have a question.”

His look is wary. “Okay.”

“How did you know where to find me?”

“I know people in high places.”

I love and hate the smile that touches his lips in equal measure. So, I give him an unimpressed look.

He shifts in his seat. “I asked one of my Secret Service guys to locate your aunt Jenny’s address. I went there, and she told me you were here.”

I’ll be having words with Aunt Jenny later. The traitor.

“Fine. Your ten minutes starts now.”

He sits forward in his chair, pushing his empty coffee cup to the side, bringing him closer to me. “I love you,” he says, flooring me.

Those words are like a bomb. Dropped in the middle of the table.

I feel them hit my chest, like a mixture of shrapnel and Cupid’s tiny fucking love arrows.

My heart inflates.

My brain cries out in confusion.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I love you, Dillon. I’m in love with you. And I’m sorry that I fucked up. I know I’m probably getting all of this wrong, just blurting out that I love you like that, but it’s the truth.”

My insides are trembling with shock. “And, uh”—I lick my dry lips—“when did you, um, realize that you love me? Was it before or after you broke up with me?”

“After.”

“What, like a day? A week? A week and six days? What exactly made you realize? Because I’m a little confused that you’ve turned up here out of the blue after two weeks of no contact and you’re telling me that you love me when the last time I saw you, you were telling me that we would have an ending, that there would be no start of something for us. Pretty much, you told me that you had zero feelings for me at all.”

“I had feelings for you. I just didn’t understand them, and honestly, when I started to a little, they scared the shit out of me. Then, I read the end of your book. All I could see was you and me together like that, and I panicked.”

“If the thought of you and me together causes you to panic, then you shouldn’t be here, West, telling me that you love me.”

“That’s the point. It did scare me. But it doesn’t now. I’ve had time to think things over, and I talked with Coach. He helped slap some sense into me.”

“Literally?”

“No.”

“Shame.”

“Dillon, when we started out, I said that I would never lie to you. But I did—the moment that I told you that we had to end. I didn’t want that. But I thought it was the only option. I knew then that I had feelings for you, but I told myself that I was no good for you. That I couldn’t be the man you deserved. I’m not good at this stuff. I’ve never even had a relationship. You were my first.”

He’s acknowledging that what we had was a relationship. That’s a start. It also helps to melt some of the ice in my chest.

“This isn’t an excuse, but my dad cheated on my mother throughout the course of their marriage, and I saw what it did to her. It broke her down piece by piece until there was nothing left. I know this isn’t rational, but at one point, I even thought that her tumor came from the stress he’d put on her in their marriage.”

“Why didn’t she ever leave?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Love maybe. Dependency. I never asked her. All I knew was that I would never become the man my father was even if that meant not having a relationship to avoid hurting someone. With you, I knew I’d eventually do whatever was necessary to push you from my life, even knowing it would hurt us both.”

“You’re not your dad.” I lower my voice.

“You’re not your mom, but it doesn’t stop you from worrying that you could be.”

He’s got me there. No matter how much I try and tell myself that I’m nothing like her, that I never will be, that fear is always there, lingering. What if I turn into her without even realizing, and then once I’m there, it’s too late to turn back and undo the damage?

“So, what’s changed? What’s different now?”

“I can’t live without you. I tried for two weeks, and it fucking sucks. I can’t function. I barely sleep. My game is shit. I’m just shit without you.”

I look down at the table and scratch my nail over the wood. “And what is it that you want from me?”

“A chance. Just like you gave me … well, my character in the book when he fucked up toward the end.”

My eyes flick to his. “You read it all?”

“Yeah. It’s really fucking good, Dillon. I don’t know much about romance, but I know ours was really fucking epic. Until I messed it up.”

I press my lips together. “I don’t know.”

“Please, Dillon. I’m not above begging. If I have to get down on my knees here and make a total ass of myself, I will.”

He starts to slide off his chair, but I grab his arm, stopping him.

“That won’t be necessary,” I hiss.

“So, you forgive me?” His eyes light up.

I feel that ache in my chest again. “I forgive you. But …”

“Don’t but me.”

“West, when you broke up with me, it gutted me, but after being home a while and thinking over things …” I let out a sad sigh. “We would have broken up at some point anyway. I live here, and your life is in America. Long distance never works. Not long-term.”

“If I could stay here with you, I would. But my job is in America.”

“You’d live in Hull?”

I’m shocked, but also I just couldn’t see West here. The thought of him living in my little corner of the world makes me want to laugh. Everything about him is too … big for Hull. And I’m pretty sure his dad would have a coronary if his son lived here.

“If I could.” He reaches his hand over the table and takes hold of mine, and I let him. The feel of his skin on mine is everything that I’ve been missing. “Dillon, do you love me?”

Do I love him?

Is the sky blue? Do birds sing in the morning?

“Yes,” I whisper. “I love you.”

Relief covers his face. It’s crazy to me that he even considered that I might not.

“Then, come back to America with me.”

“I can’t. I just got this job. I can’t just quit and come to the States with you.”

“Why not?”

“Because … well, because eventually, I would have to come back home. I can’t stay in America forever. I only get a limited time there, and I can’t quit this job because I’d have to come back here and then get another, meaning—”

“Dillon.” He leans over the table and presses his lips to mine.

He kisses me, and everything just disappears. All the hurt I felt, the anger, and the disappointment. Nothing seems to matter anymore now that he’s here and kissing me.

“Sorry,” he whispers, moving back. “But I couldn’t wait any longer to kiss you.”

“It’s fine,” I breathe. “Feel free to shut me up that way anytime.”

A smile touches his lips. “Noted. Now, back to you coming to the States with me.”

“I can’t—”

He holds up a hand, cutting me off. “You can apply for a work visa.”

“But I don’t have a job in the States. Duh.”

He laughs a deep, husky sound, and it makes my stomach swoop and dive, like there’s a flock of birds in there.

“God, I’ve missed you. And you’re right. You don’t currently have a job in the States, but you do potentially have an American publisher.”

“I’m sorry, what now?”

He gives me a nervous look. “Okay, so don’t be mad, but I might have given The Two-Week Stand to an editor friend of my teammate’s for her to read, and she loved it. She wants to set up a meeting with you to talk about them publishing it.”

“You … what? I’m … what?”

He laughs a low, toe-curling sound. “Her name is Addison. She gave me her number for you to call her.”

“A publisher … wants to publish my book? For real?”

“For real.” He smiles.

And I can’t even be mad that he went and gave my unedited book to an editor to read because he said that she loves it.

She loves it.

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

“So, if you get this deal—which you will because you’re a fucking awesome writer—then you’ll have work ties to the US because of your publisher.”

“And I’ll be able to stay there. With you.”

He cups my face with his hand. “Yeah, babe, with me.”

So, my choices are to stay in Hull, working at this coffee shop, or go live in America with the man I love and have my book published, living out my dream?

Hmm. It’s a tough one.

“I’ll be paying rent this time,” I tell him firmly.

When he got me to the States last time, he wouldn’t take any money from me for rent. The only thing I could do to contribute was buy groceries, and he wasn’t even keen on that.

A smile lights up his face. “I’ll do whatever it takes to get you back home with me.”

Home. With West. Now, that sounds pretty damn good.

“I love you, Double D. Pretty sure I have since the moment you stumbled into the bar on the island.”

“You fell in love with me that night?” I give him a dubious look.

“Okay, well, maybe not that exact night. It was probably the night when you let me stick my dick in you for the first time.”

“So romantic.” I roll my eyes.

“I’m not. But for you, I’ll try.”

And that there is the most romantic thing he could have said. My eyes start to fill with tears.

“Shit, I upset you. I’m sorry.” His eyes are bright with worry.

“No, they’re good tears, I promise. I’m just … happy—that’s all.”

“Thank fuck. And I promise you, I plan on spending the rest of forever trying to make you happy.”

Forever.

Who would’ve thought that my two-week stand would turn into forever? Definitely not me. But here we are.

I take West’s hand in mine and squeeze it. “I promise to make you happy too.”

“You already do, Double D. You have since the moment you came into the bar and sat on the stool next to me. I might not have loved you then, but you’ve been making me happy since the moment we met.”

That makes me smile. “You too.”

He lifts a brow. “You don’t remember that night.”

“Semantics. I might not remember, but I know that you made me happy, for sure. Just because my brain is shit and—”

“Dillon.”

“What?”

He kisses me again. “I love you,” he says against my lips.

Smiling, my heart full of everything that I feel for him, I whisper, “I love you too, West.”