Second(9)

“Take a seat and relax,” he suggests, chopping an onion with a precision that impresses me.

My eyes find the bottle of wine. I grin, grab two wine glasses out of the cupboard, pop the bottle, and pour. He finally gives me his attention, green eyes narrowing on the amounts I put in the glasses.

“Pretty sure you’re not meant to fill them up to the top,” he says, sounding slightly amused, faintly horrified. Is he not much of a drinker? I’m not usually either. I’ll have a wine with dinner, and a few drinks out with the girls every now and then, but no one has ever worried about my alcohol consumption before.

“Says who?” I ask, raising my brow. “Are you the wine police now, or something? Adding that to your resume, along with famous musician and heart throb?”

“Says everyone,” he replies flippantly, returning to his vegetable chopping.

“Good thing you didn’t become a lawyer either,” I mutter under my breath, then take my first sip. It’s delicious. I let Dean know. He did buy the bottle after all; he wouldn’t let me pay for the alcohol, either. I decide that I’m going to pay for everything else we need for the next few days until he leaves. Yeah, I’m not rich like him, but I make a good living. I’d probably have more savings if I didn’t have a designer bag addiction, but that’s a whole other story.

“Your hair’s gotten longer,” he says after a moment of silence.

I touch my damp dark locks and nod. “Yeah, I think it looks better longer. It’s harder to maintain though. You should have seen how hard it was to brush the knots out this morning.”

“I like it,” he says, eying me. “And that’s probably because you hadn’t brushed it in longer than I care to mention.”

I roll my eyes at him and take another gulp of wine. “You’re not going to cut me any slack, are you?”

“Is that what you want?” he asks, washing his hands in the sink. “Tara was really worried about you, Sabina. She was crying as she was telling me that she doesn’t know what to do, that it kills her to see you like this.”

That comment sobers me up. “I don’t want to hurt anyone, Dean. I’m just dealing with the cards I’ve been dealt in the best way possible.”

“I get that,” he says, grabbing his very full glass of wine and taking a sip. I stare at the tattoos that run up his right arm—a full sleeve. “Look, if you ever need anyone, I’m here, all right? My line’s always open. You need me, I’ll be here.”

My expression softens. “Thanks, Dean,” I say, pushing my hair back behind my ear. “And right back at you. I never asked you how you’ve been doing with everything.”

How much of a shit person am I? I’ve made this the Sabina show, but Dean lost his blood relation.

“I’ve been keeping busy,” he says, smiling sadly. Even though I can see the sadness in his eyes, his dimples still pop up, contradicting his feelings. This time, I do what I’ve been wanting to and reach my index finger up, touching the one on his left cheek.

“Did you just poke my cheek?” he asks, blinking slowly. He reaches out and touches my forehead. “I think you got too much sun today, Sabina. Especially after being locked away all this time. We should have broken you in slowly instead of letting you lie in the sun all afternoon.”

I smirk and look down into my wine, which is half gone now. “You have the cutest dimples is all. I’ve heard women talking about them.”

“Is that what they talk about? My dimples?” he asks, his voice taking on a playful note. “Not my voice, or my abs, just my dimples?”

“Your abs?” I ask, eyes going wide. “Do you think you’re a fitness model or something now, Dean?”

He probably could be one, but that’s not the point.

He chuckles and starts to cut up some chicken. “You saw me at the beach today, what do you think?”

For the first time since I lost my husband, I laugh. I mean a true laugh, one that starts in your stomach and works its way outwards. I don’t know if it’s the wine, or if it’s me losing my mind, but I laugh.

And my soul feels lighter for it.



*****

“Did Tara tell you that this was my favourite meal of all time?” I ask him after I swallow my first mouthful.

“No,” he says, putting his phone down and giving me his full attention. “I remember. We went on family holidays together, Sabina. Everyone knows you’re a huge fan of any Asian food, fried rice in particular.”

“Oh,” I say, eyes widening. “You’re pretty observant, aren’t you?”