Denying Dylan | ✔️

(21) "I guess it'll be hard,"

Two minutes back in New York and I wanted to turn around and go straight back to California. It was so much colder than the beach. Fresh snow powdered the pavement, hydrants and light poles had a coating of slick shine from the rain turning into ice. Two weeks had not been long enough, the feeling of suffocating came on strong as soon as I stepped out of Dylan's Jeep. And I hated that feeling because Manhattan was home and it always had been.

Now it felt like the home of all that had failed in my life and the reminder was devastating.

Still, I had a few things that I needed to take care of before I could up and run. And running was beginning to sound a whole lot sweeter.

Dylan carried my bags until we came to Allie's apartment. We'd spent the last four days travelling home, holding hands, spooning in hotel beds and sharing the comfort of each other without a whole lot of words being exchanged. We'd kissed here and there. Small ones. Nothing like the kiss that we'd shared that night that he told me he'd left Charlie. Because of me.

That news had almost killed me. Hearing that our kiss had woken him up and forced him to acknowledge that what he felt for Charlie couldn't compare to what he felt for me, life changing. The exchange wasn't quite how I'd imagined it would be when I fantasised what it would be like to tell him I love him.

I used to go over it in my head, rehearsing words that I didn't believe I'd ever tell him. In some fantasies, I would show up at his apartment, he'd open the door and I would leap into his arms, telling him that I couldn't live without him knowing the truth. And of course, in my fantasy, he'd tell me he loved me too.

Or perhaps we'd be dancing on the ice in Central Park. Tivoli lights would zip line above us and as he pulled me back in from a spin, I'd clutch his shirt and tell him that I want to be the one meeting him at the end of the aisle. Then he would get down on one knee and make it official right then and there.

It hadn't been more than two months since Christmas. Since I realised that I could barely function when I thought about kissing him. But the fantasies didn't let up and it was a constant fight between embracing them or fighting them off and accepting that I was his best friend and nothing more.

But of course, the way that our subtle confession went down was not quite as glamorous as I'd hoped it would be. It was meant to be picture perfect. I wasn't meant to have tears and snot all over my face, I wasn't meant to despair over the fact that I'm not ready for him.

We walked inside and Allie was in the kitchen with Ho on the other side of the apartment. Both of them wore aprons, sweats and smiles. The smiles were the best and worst part. For just a second, I got to see their candid, unfiltered adoration for the life they'd made for themselves. Standing together in the kitchen while they cut up ingredients and giggled, it was beautiful. It was a simple sort of beautiful.

"Bea," Allie said when she noticed that I was hovering beside the door. Her gaze moved to Dylan for a moment before she looked at me again. "You're just in time for dinner. You wanna stay Dyl? Ho's making Bulgogi."

Ho looked down at Allie, his knife mid stroke, his expression disapproving. "Don't invite him to dinner when I'm cooking. He's a chef. I don't need that kind of pressure." He looked over at us and smiled. "You can stay but you have to cook."

Allie slapped him in the chest with the back of her hand.

"It's fine guys," Dylan chuckled. "I have to get going. Another night."

Allie nodded and both of them resumed their cooking. I watched them for another moment and then I turned around and looked up at the only man I could ever imagine doing that with.