me in tears. The last time he was in my bedroom, I felt alive and loved, like we could take on the world together. He hovers, unsure and the whole time he’s been around, I know he wanted to comfort me.
“Are you okay?” he asks softly.
I shake my head, chewing the inside of my mouth.
“Can I come in? Help out?”
Standing, I scrub my face with my sleeve and pick up my rucksack. “I’ll just get some things from the bathroom; then we can go, I think the roads will be getting bad. Is there anything you need me to bring? I could get… ”
Dylan touches my arm as I reach the doorway, alarming me out of my rambling. “Sky. It’s okay to be upset; this is a huge fucking deal.”
“I want to be able to cope with this.”
“You don’t have to be strong all the time.”
The expression in Dylan’s eyes pulls me back to the man who told me he loved me, and that’s still in his face now. He continues to rub my arm, in an attempt to soothe, and his kindness and presence switch the tears back on.
“Fuck, Sky.” Dylan wraps his arms around me, squeezing me close and I’m engulfed by the emotions that have swamped me today; seeing Dylan, admitting things could work, and then going from that euphoria to this despair. Rubbing my face into his shirt, inhaling his familiar smell, I spend a moment in safety. I’ve fallen over the precipice, and I’m lost. Five months of clinging onto the new world I was pushed into after Grant, I’m pushed beyond what I can cope with. And Dylan is here to catch me.
Chapter Eight
Sky
Mind blown. That’s what happens the moment I step into his apartment. If I thought Dylan’s house in the country was impressive, this place blows the expensive pile of bricks out of the water. Excuse my naivety but I never imagine apartments to be two storey; apparently, upstairs is called a mezzanine but whatever the hell it is, the space has floor to ceiling windows stretching across the whole wall, giving sweeping views of the Thames.
Having walked across plush brown carpets and around furniture that’s so expensive I wouldn’t want to touch anything, I gape at the panorama, reminded of canvas pictures of skylines on the wall in my dentist’s reception area. Dylan stands beside me, hands tucked beneath his arms as if this is the only way he can stop himself from touching me.
“A bit different to Cornwall,” I tell him.
“More snow, less beach?”
“You know what I mean, look at this place.”
“Would it sound strange if I said I’d rather be in Broadbeach?”
I’m unsure I want to revisit Broadbeach in my mind, even though the fantasy of the place would be much better than my current reality. Finding my flat broken into turned the day toward a weird unreality, coming here has reinforced this. I don’t answer him.
“Let me show you where you can stay,” he says, gesturing toward the metal stairs.
We walk down, toward the centre of the house. “I’m that side; this side is for guests,” he says, pointing in two directions.
I nod dumbly, taking in the contrast of his clean, beautiful home after my trashed flat. Dylan leads me in the direction of the guest rooms, past a separate lounge area and a darkened room set up like a movie theatre.
Going into the room Dylan indicates, I perch on the edge of the king-size bed, sinking into the soft mattress. The room is huge, twice the size of my own at home. A walk in robe is set into one wall, next to an ajar door through to a bathroom. No expense has been spared anywhere in this house; the guests get as much luxury as the owner.
Dylan sets my bag down, the scruffy rucksack out of place on the beautiful cream carpet. “Thanks.” I open the bag and look at my clothes, debating whether to hang anything in the robe.
“One thing…” says Dylan.
“Knickers on the bed, I know, getting old now, Dylan.” I’m too tired for this; the plush bedding begs me to lie down and switch off from the world.
He laughs. “I wasn’t going
“Are you okay?” he asks softly.
I shake my head, chewing the inside of my mouth.
“Can I come in? Help out?”
Standing, I scrub my face with my sleeve and pick up my rucksack. “I’ll just get some things from the bathroom; then we can go, I think the roads will be getting bad. Is there anything you need me to bring? I could get… ”
Dylan touches my arm as I reach the doorway, alarming me out of my rambling. “Sky. It’s okay to be upset; this is a huge fucking deal.”
“I want to be able to cope with this.”
“You don’t have to be strong all the time.”
The expression in Dylan’s eyes pulls me back to the man who told me he loved me, and that’s still in his face now. He continues to rub my arm, in an attempt to soothe, and his kindness and presence switch the tears back on.
“Fuck, Sky.” Dylan wraps his arms around me, squeezing me close and I’m engulfed by the emotions that have swamped me today; seeing Dylan, admitting things could work, and then going from that euphoria to this despair. Rubbing my face into his shirt, inhaling his familiar smell, I spend a moment in safety. I’ve fallen over the precipice, and I’m lost. Five months of clinging onto the new world I was pushed into after Grant, I’m pushed beyond what I can cope with. And Dylan is here to catch me.
Chapter Eight
Sky
Mind blown. That’s what happens the moment I step into his apartment. If I thought Dylan’s house in the country was impressive, this place blows the expensive pile of bricks out of the water. Excuse my naivety but I never imagine apartments to be two storey; apparently, upstairs is called a mezzanine but whatever the hell it is, the space has floor to ceiling windows stretching across the whole wall, giving sweeping views of the Thames.
Having walked across plush brown carpets and around furniture that’s so expensive I wouldn’t want to touch anything, I gape at the panorama, reminded of canvas pictures of skylines on the wall in my dentist’s reception area. Dylan stands beside me, hands tucked beneath his arms as if this is the only way he can stop himself from touching me.
“A bit different to Cornwall,” I tell him.
“More snow, less beach?”
“You know what I mean, look at this place.”
“Would it sound strange if I said I’d rather be in Broadbeach?”
I’m unsure I want to revisit Broadbeach in my mind, even though the fantasy of the place would be much better than my current reality. Finding my flat broken into turned the day toward a weird unreality, coming here has reinforced this. I don’t answer him.
“Let me show you where you can stay,” he says, gesturing toward the metal stairs.
We walk down, toward the centre of the house. “I’m that side; this side is for guests,” he says, pointing in two directions.
I nod dumbly, taking in the contrast of his clean, beautiful home after my trashed flat. Dylan leads me in the direction of the guest rooms, past a separate lounge area and a darkened room set up like a movie theatre.
Going into the room Dylan indicates, I perch on the edge of the king-size bed, sinking into the soft mattress. The room is huge, twice the size of my own at home. A walk in robe is set into one wall, next to an ajar door through to a bathroom. No expense has been spared anywhere in this house; the guests get as much luxury as the owner.
Dylan sets my bag down, the scruffy rucksack out of place on the beautiful cream carpet. “Thanks.” I open the bag and look at my clothes, debating whether to hang anything in the robe.
“One thing…” says Dylan.
“Knickers on the bed, I know, getting old now, Dylan.” I’m too tired for this; the plush bedding begs me to lie down and switch off from the world.
He laughs. “I wasn’t going
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