Chapter Five

Macy

I always knew I'd be walking home. Even if Aunt Bernice's car hadn't broken down, leaving her stranded in Willmont Vale, there's no way I'd have dragged her out at this time of night to collect me. And the walk is quite refreshing after spending the last few hours cooped up in the noise and heat of the bar.

That said, I enjoyed it.

I'll admit I was nervous to start with. Not about working in a bar again. Like I said to Dawson, it's not something that's easily forgotten. No, the reason I was nervous was because this job matters to me. It might not have been my life's ambition to work in a bar, but getting this job will mean I can stay here in Hart's Creek, and although I didn't intend to make a home here, that's what I want now… and I want to be able to pay my way. Aunt Bernice hasn't said anything, but I know money is tight since my uncle died, and it'll be a relief to put something toward the groceries and bills while I'm staying with her… and maybe even save up for a place of my own, too.

If I'm being completely honest, that wasn't the only reason I was nervous about tonight's shift.

Those were nerves of a different kind, though. The thought of working with Dawson was making my stomach churn and my skin tingle. It was distracting, to the extent that I took ages to decide what to wear, settling on jeans and a blouse, simply because I remembered how warm it can get in a bar. I needed a top that wasn't too revealing, though, and when I stood in front of my closet, I had to smile, recalling a woman I used to work with when I was at college, who used to love flaunting her breasts at every man who walked up to the bar. I always thought that was kinda cheap, and chose a white blouse, making sure it was buttoned up enough to enable me to lean forward without revealing too much… if anything.

I put my hair up loosely behind my head to keep it out of the way, and applied just a little makeup before going through to the living room, where Aunt Bernice was sitting on the couch, putting on her shoes.

"Are you ready?" she asked. We'd planned that she'd give me a ride to work, and then go on to her friend Vivienne's place in Willmont Vale for the evening.

"I am."

"And you'll be okay to get home?"

I nodded my head, knowing I intended to walk, but that she wouldn't want to hear that.

Her car is a ten-year-old hatchback, and once we were inside, she drove out onto the main road, and glanced across at me.

"How are you gonna manage this?" she asked.

"Manage what?"

"Getting to work. I can't bring you every day. I have lessons most of the time, although I guess you could borrow the car…" Her voice faded and I could tell she was working out the logistics of that.

"No, I couldn't. You like to go out visiting with your friends, and I'm not gonna stop you."

She smiled over at me. "Even so, I want you to promise to call if you can't get home."

I nodded my head, knowing I wouldn't. My aunt had clearly forgotten that I wouldn't finish work until eleven-thirty, or maybe even later… and that she likes to be in bed by ten.

My nerves increased when I got to Dawson's place, but I don't think he noticed, and it probably helped that there were no customers when I arrived, so he could show me around with no interruptions. Fortunately, things didn't stay quiet for long, and our busy evening passed really quickly.

Everyone who came in was friendly… although some of the men were more friendly than others, and it was interesting to see how Dawson moved closer on a couple of occasions, presumably to make sure I was okay. I liked that. I felt reassured by his presence… although the fact that he's physically huge and on my side of the bar didn't hurt.

I was surprised to get a call from Aunt Bernice, and to hear that her car had broken down. It's always been really reliable, and she seemed quite distressed about it. I could hear Vivienne fussing in the background, which probably wasn't helping. Her plan was a good one, though, not that there was very much else to be done. It wasn't as though I had any means of getting to Willmont Vale to bring her back, and she assured me the man at the auto shop had said he'd do his best to fix the car at Vivienne's house, but that if he couldn't he'd tow it back to Hart's Creek and drop her off at home on the way.

"It's kind of him," Aunty said, "but what am I gonna do without a car?"

"You don't know you will be without a car," I reasoned, sitting at the table in the break room. "It might be something really easy to fix."

"And it might not."

It wasn't like Aunt Bernie to panic or to be so pessimistic, and I did my best to reassure her. "Then we'll manage," I said. "I'm sure it won't be for long."

She seemed calmer by the end of our call and I returned to Dawson in the bar, explaining the situation to him. He asked if I was gonna be okay to get home, and I said I was. What I didn't tell him was that I planned to walk. After all… what was he gonna do about it? The man was in no state to drive.

Dawson hides it well, but there's no doubt about it, he drinks. A lot.

He keeps a bottle of vodka to one side behind the bar, and although I haven't seen him pour any into his glass, I wouldn't mind betting that the drink which spent the evening masquerading as water was anything but. Add that to the bourbon I'm fairly sure was in his coffee this morning, and the evidence feels conclusive.

Owning a bar isn't the ideal set-up for someone with an alcohol problem, but it didn't seem to affect his work. I've watched him, and he didn't once slur or falter. He didn't get a single order wrong, and was completely steady on his feet. The only clue was that, by the end of the evening, he was struggling to focus… just slightly.

Has that changed my opinion of him?

Not at all. I still like him, and I'm still attracted to him… and, regardless of everything Aunt Bernie said this morning, I want to help him, too… perhaps even more than I did before.

If he'll let me.

I get back to Aunt Bernice's place, surprised by how cold and lonely the house feels without her. It's silly really. She'd have been tucked up in bed long ago, even if she'd been home, but the place seems so quiet, and I don't particularly want to sit up by myself, so I grab a glass of milk and take it through to my bedroom, not switching on a single light, until I get there.

Undressing is the work of moments, and I leave my clothes on the floor, glancing at the time, and letting out a groan when I see it's already nearly twelve-thirty in the morning. I'm due at Peony's place at nine… so I'd better get some sleep.

The bar's empty. We've just closed for the night and while Dawson locks the door, I collect the glasses from some of the tables.

"Leave that," he says and I turn, surprised to find he's right behind me.

"But we should clear…"

He shakes his head, stepping closer, and pulls me into his arms, his lips crushed against mine in a desperate kiss.

"I've wanted to do that for so long," he says, kissing me again, and flexing his hips, letting me feel his arousal.

Without breaking the kiss, he lifts me into his arms and sits me up on the table behind me… from which the glasses have miraculously disappeared. He parts my legs, standing between them, and places a finger beneath my chin, raising my face to his.

"Stop me if this isn't what you want," he murmurs.

"It's exactly what I want." I gaze into his eyes, noticing how they darken slightly.

"In that case, don't stop me…"

I'm suddenly naked, although I don't know how, and he pushes me down onto my back, raising my legs, and bending down to lick me, intimately. I'm screaming his name, thrashing wildly on the table.

"You taste so sweet," he murmurs, unzipping his jeans. I want to look at him, but there isn't time, and I let out a loud gasp as he enters me, taking my breath away.

"More," I urge. "Give me more."

He smiles, nodding his head, his eyes sparkling, and takes me harder… and harder, until we both come loudly, and he collapses onto me, kissing me and murmuring something about love…

My eyes open. It's dark and I'm too hot. I'm so hot, my skin is on fire, and I throw back the covers, struggling to breathe.

I've never had a dream like that in my life, and I let my hands wander over my naked body, trying to remember… trying to recapture that glorious moment…

I wake to wintry sunlight, overwhelmed with disappointment. My dream is still fresh, but I didn't recapture it. That brief excerpt was all I got, and it wasn't enough. I slept well, though, because I don't think I'll ever forget how it felt to be wanted like that, even if it was make-believe.

Still, it's time to get back to the real world, and I turn over, picking up my phone to check the time and let out a yelp of surprise. It's seven forty-five already. I must have forgotten to set my alarm, and I leap out of bed, taking advantage of Bernice's absence, and rushing straight into the bathroom, regardless of my lack of clothes.

I take the quickest shower in history, get dressed in jeans and a sweater, and swallow down a bowl of cereal, putting my coffee into a travel mug before setting off for the orchard.

It might be sunny, but it's cold, and I'm relieved to get there, and get indoors again.

"You're looking very pleased with yourself," Peony says as I take off my coat.

I wasn't aware I had been, but I join her in the kitchen, where she's fixing us a coffee, and nod my head.

"I got the job."

"The job?"

"Yes, the one Ryan was talking about… at Dawson's Bar."

"I—I didn't realize you were going for it. Not definitely."

I notice her slight hesitation and the worried look on her face. "I didn't really have any choice. But you don't need to worry. I won't let it interfere with my work here."

She shakes her head. "I'm not worried about that," she says. "It's just… oh, it's nothing."

I step a little closer. "No. Tell me."

My nerves have returned. And with good reason. I've put aside my worries about working for a man who I find attractive. After all, working for him doesn't mean anything else has to happen…regardless of the amazing dream I had last night. I've even decided to overlook his grumpiness and his drinking… at least for the time being. I'm willing to find out about them, and try to help him resolve his problems, anyway. The last thing I need now is for Peony to raise an objection and spoil everything.

She lets out a sigh and stares at the island unit, not making eye contact with me. "It's just that my ex-boyfriend and Dawson's ex-wife ran off together," she says.

I put a few pieces together in my head. "My aunt told me his wife had left him, but I didn't realize—"

"Yeah," she says, nodding her head and looking at me again. "Dawson and I haven't spoken since it happened."

"Why not?"

"To be honest, I don't know why Dawson hasn't spoken to me."

"Okay. But why haven't you spoken to him?"

"I just feel kinda embarrassed, I guess. At the beginning, when it first happened, I didn't know what to say to him. Then, after a few months, I met Ryan, and that just seemed to make things worse. I was happy, and Dawson wasn't, and I thought he might hate me for that."

"Why? It wasn't your fault, and you had every right to be happy."

"I know, and I'm not saying that's how he felt. I'm just saying how I felt."

"I see."

"He was really hurt when Stevie left him," she says.

"Was that his wife?"

"Yes. They'd been together for… well, forever, I guess. Certainly since high school."

That must have been hard for him. I don't know how old Dawson is, but I imagine he's in his mid-thirties, which means he and his ex-wife were together for more than half a lifetime. I don't know how you let go of something like that… especially if it wasn't your decision.

Maybe by drinking too much to help you forget?

"Do you remember when we were talking about Tanner being a nice guy, and how good it was to see him happy after his divorce?" Peony says, grabbing my attention.

"Yes."

"Do you recall I said his best friend was also a nice guy?"

"Yes, I do." I put two and two together in my head. "Can I assume that was Dawson?"

"You can."

I'm not surprised. The struggle is obvious, and I think it's sad that he's lost himself and can't seem to find a way back. I'm also confused about why he and Peony don't talk. Let's face it, they've got a shared bond and it might have helped them both if they could have talked about what happened.

I can't imagine Dawson opening up, though. Not to Peony, or anyone else for that matter. He strikes me as the kind of man who'd keep his feelings to himself. But all the while he does that, he doesn't stand a chance of putting the past behind him and living in the present, or hoping for the future.

It's a shame, really, because the nice guy is still there beneath the gruff exterior. Despite the drinking and the ever-present scowl, he's still there. All he has to do is find himself again.

And I can help with that.