Second(45)
When he pulls away, he smiles at me, and says, “Come on, let’s go eat.”
I don’t know how I’m meant to eat after that. I just want to listen to him play over and over again, soak up every moment of it.
We head downstairs and I take the time to look around his house. It really is beautiful. Whoever decorated it did an amazing job.
“I love it,” I tell him, staring at the pictures on the wall. “Your home is beautiful, Dean.”
“Glad you think so,” he says, studying me.
We walk hand in hand to the kitchen. As he starts to make breakfast, I wonder if he feels lonely in this big house all alone sometimes. Or maybe he’s hardly home, who knows? He does live a busy life. Maybe he’s usually not here alone. I cringe at that part. He said he’s never had anyone else on his bed though, so that’s probably not the case, and I’m just being a little paranoid. I know he won’t lie to me, I trust him. Still, he’s known for being quite the ladies’ man.
“How have you had no other woman in your bed?” I blurt out, unable to help myself. “You’re a good man, Dean. The best. But you’re no saint.”
He lifts his head to look at me, watching me silently for a few moments. “You want the truth?”
I swallow, then nod.
Yes, always the truth.
“I’ve dated a lot of women over the years, yes,” he admits, taking a deep breath. “I couldn’t have you, Sabina. And it killed me. I needed distractions, and I wanted to meet someone that I could love. Someone that could be mine.”
It kills me to hear those words from him, but I do understand.
“But you didn’t.”
Luckily for me, I suppose, but I didn’t want him to be unhappy these past few years.
“No, I didn’t,” he says, eyes softening. “Nothing and no one ever compared to you.”
“And no one in your bed?” I probe further. Something hits me then, “Wait, how new is the bed?”
He throws his head back and laughs, “It’s about a year old.”
I still.
A year?
“Hey, Dean?”
“Yes, Sabina,” he says, watching me.
“Do you believe in fate?” I ask, using the words he said to me on my wedding day.
He cups my face and rests his forehead against mine. “Yes, I do.”
“Me too,” I whisper, closing my eyes as he kisses me.
We both eat the omelette and toast and then Dean asks me what I want to do today.
“Have a lazy morning and then drive around and see LA?” I suggest.
“Do you want to go out for dinner or something?”
“Sounds good,” I say, smiling.
I don’t care what we do, as long as I’m with him.
He shows me the rest of the house, and outside where he has a beautiful pool and deck, and then I have a quick shower and get dressed.
Then I hop back into bed, making him laugh.
*****
The next night, Dean takes me to his performance. I wait backstage while he sings on a popular TV talk show, then does a little interview. When the host asks him if he’s dating someone, he says, “I am most definitely taken.”
Most definitely.
I smile as I hear those words, even as the crowd all says a collective awwww.
When he’s done, he comes straight to me and I’m back in his arms. “What did you think?”
“You were amazing,” I say, smiling at him proudly.
“It’s so different. It makes everything more exciting, knowing I have you here with me, Sabina. It’s like everything finally makes sense, all the puzzle pieces fit now.”
I rest my head on his chest and close my eyes. “Those words should go in a song.”
He chuckles, then kisses the top of my head.
How am I meant to leave him again?
We head back to his house, where the chef cooks us a delicious dinner. I can see why he keeps him around, his food is amazing.
While Dean’s life is so different to mine, he’s still the same in any environment, and I like that. Even though this isn’t my lifestyle, I still feel comfortable because he makes me that way. I don’t think it matters what situation I’m in, as long as it’s with him.
He is where I’m meant to be.
Dean is my home.
Who said home had to be a place?
*****
A few days later, I’ve decided that I love everything about LA. After seeing sights, exploring the city, and eating out at all the different spots, I never want to leave. I read a book on the couch while Dean works on his music; he’s writing down lyrics and playing his guitar, a new song in the making. I can’t help but watch, mesmerized by the process.
He lifts his head and grins when he catches me watching. “Pretending to read?”