Page 16 of Crashing Into You

“Yeah. They really did love it here.”

“What about you? Do you love living here?”

I don’t know how we got so deep with our conversation already, but I don’t care. It feels normal to talk to him like this, just like it did when I told him about my parents on the beach. Like it was something he needed to know about me, no secrets, nothing hidden.

“I do,” I say, heading back into the kitchen area and switching off the kettle. “Like I say, I couldn’t stay in Melbourne. There are memories here too– we used to spend summers on the coast while this place was being built– but they’re happy ones.”

I pull out the French press and the bag of ground coffee, pausing to breathe in the scent before putting a few scoops in the press. I top it up with hot water and leave it to sit, taking mugs out of one of the large drawers in the kitchen island and putting them on the counter.

“I get it,” Bryce says. “Home can be…”—his brows draw together and he rubs a hand over his face—“like the best and most painful place on earth, all at the same time. It can be tough to stay, sometimes.”

“Did you grow up in Melbourne?”

“Yeah. Richmond. You?”

“Camberwell. Do you… Do you go back often, then?” I’m cautious about asking, shadows shifting in his gaze. But it also feels natural, like he won’t mind at all.

“Not as often as I should. I’m supposed to head there later today, though.”

“Oh, okay.” So that’s it, then. I don’t know why I feel so disappointed. Or why I feel the need to hold on to every minute with Bryce. “How do you take your coffee?”

“Black,” he says. “With honey, if you’ve got it?”

“I do.” I head into the small pantry area off the kitchen. I take a moment in there to catch my breath. Bryce Maylands in my house is doing things to me.

When I come out, he’s sitting on one of the tall stools at the side of the granite island. I put the honey down, and hand him a spoon, then pour the coffee into the mugs.

I pass one to him, but he seems deep in thought.

“You okay?” I hope I haven’t upset him, asking about home.

“Yeah.” He grins at me, but seems somehow nervous. “Iwas just wondering… How would you feel about being my girlfriend?”

Bryce

I didn’t mean to just blurt it out like that.

But as soon as I saw her hurl those flowers over the edge of the deck, and read the note that asshole left for her, the idea that had been simmering at the back of my mind came to full boil.

I want to help her.

You might have a boyfriend now, but he won’t last. You’re mine, and I won’t give up until you’re back with me again. Remember, I love you.

What an absolute dickhead. I’m glad I didn’t show her the note; she doesn’t need that kind of shit in her life. I’ve seen what it can do to people, being the target of someone’s obsession, the dark paths they can go down. And Claire, with her ocean eyes and soft kindness, is the last person I want that to happen to.

Maybe it’s a bit selfish of me as well. I know Jeff will be happy if I can pull this off, not to mention my sponsors. And it’ll take some of the heat off me while I sort out the things I need to do here.

Plus, I want her.

But this is going to be a relationship of convenience. Surface level only.

If she agrees to it, anyway.

At the moment she’s standing stock still, staring at me, her pink lips half-open, eyes wide. Shit. Maybe she’ll tell me to get the fuck out of her house. Maybe she thinks I’m a nutcase like Simon.

“Let me explain,” I continue, before she can show me the door. “I have… stuff going on in my life at the moment. And if I can appear to have a girlfriend, it will help me. But more than that, it might help you… with your current… er, situation.”

“Your girlfriend?” She still looks stunned.