I’m always going to remember Jacob in my wildest dreams and nothing more, and dreams don’t keep you warm at night.
They don’t make the world around you light up like the Fourth of July.
I look at the clock, noting it’s late. It’s nearing one am.
I’m exhausted.
But I know what I need to do. So I close my eyes and tell myself when the sun comes up, I’ll fight to win.
I’m not going to let Garrett Tempest or my father’s words keep me from what I want more than anything.
When the sun comes up, I’m going to write my own fucking fairytale. I just hope that I’m not too late.
I wake up and shower as fast as I can, if only because I didn’t sleep well. I tossed and turned most of the night, going over exactly what I wanted to say to Jacob, hoping that he’ll at least give me the chance to do so. I know realistically this might not end well. Jacob left in a hurry last night after everything had happened, and I can’t say I blame him. Garrett’s assault, his bitter confession… and I certainly didn’t help matters; too focused at the time on my own selfish needs rather than the truth. There’s a chance he won’t want to see me, after what had happened and I can’t say that I blame him, but there is one aspect of our relationship that can’t be ignored, and that’s thefact I hired him to do a job, and that job is over. I have an obligation to pay him what I promised, not because it’s good business to follow through on such things, but because it’s the one solid fact that stands between us and the possibility, the wild dream ofmore.
I run my hands through my hair, relishing in the warmth of the water on my skin. It’s almost as if the water itself is cleansing me; absolving me of the last shreds of what we were. What I created us to be, leaving room for what I know weare.What we can be if he accepts my offer.
At least, I think I know what we are, but I won’t know for sure until I see him, until I say what I have to.
I don’t bother to dress in my usual attire. Today, I’m not focused on being Aaron Everett, hotel heir and perpetual bachelor. Dad always said to dress for the job I want.
And what I want is to be Jacob Riley’s boyfriend. If he’ll have me.
So I put on my dark wash jeans and a hot pink polo, run some product through my hair, slip on my tennis shoes and watch, and head for the door. I barely notice the body in my peripheral as I hit the kitchen.
“Where do you think you’re going?” My father’s voice is calm. Even.
I stop, turning to see him at the island with one cup of coffee in front of him. It’s only then I hear the sputtering sounds of the coffee pot, the sizzle of bacon on the stove. I look around, but no one else looks to be awake, as it’s just the two of us and I can’t see any bodies out on the veranda from the window. It’s just me. And my dad.
“Out,” is all I say, but I don’t move.
“You can’t go out on an empty stomach,” he says, getting up from his spot at the island. He nods, motioning for me to followhim. I’m frozen between running and listening, my heart being pulled in one direction, while my brain—
“Just sit down, Aaron. Have a cup of coffee with me before you go off half-cocked and fuck things up even more than you already have.”
Ah. There it is. There’s the father I know.
I scowl at him, but my stomach growls, and I relent if only for the coffee. I don’t know if I can eat, being as I feel like my damn stomach is in knots.
“You know, you really need a medal for being a motivational speaker,” I snipe.
My father pours a cup of coffee and slides it to me.
“You can get your own cream and sugar. Though, I don’t think all that sugar actually counts as coffee, but…” he says, and I realize he’s never once poured me coffee. Or taken a coffee order for me, yet… he knows I don’t drink it black. He knows how I like it.
The fact stops me in my tracks as he pushes the creamer pitcher and the sugar bowl towards me.
“Thanks,” I mutter as I take my time putting my three spoonfuls of sugar in and mixing in the cream.
“You know, before I builtEvermore, I had this vision,” he says calmly, sipping his coffee. I watch as he sets his cup down, to flip the bacon in the skillet. I’ve never seen my dad cook before in the kitchen. On the grill, sure. On vacations, but…
At home, usually his chef prepared our meals, or mom would take a day or two to make some trendy meal she was raving about or craving. I didn’t even know my dad knewhow to cook.
Granted, bacon isn’t really cooking, more or less just flipping, but—
“I wanted the hotels to be a home away from home. I wanted our customers to feel like they were family. Like their kids werepart of our family, and that they could relax and just… enjoy one another. Make memories.”
I watch as he cracks two eggs into the skillet next to the bacon.
