How the Light Gets In (Cracks Duet #2)(12)

Dylan laughed again, eyes sparkling with merriment as he stared at me for a long moment. So long I became self-conscious.

“What?” I asked, tucking some hair behind my ear.

He shrugged. “It just feels surreal to have you here.”

I pursed my lips. “Surreal good or surreal bad?”

He was quick to answer. “Good. Definitely good.”

Over an hour later, I sat on Dylan’s couch, belly full of bruschetta and ready for a nap. What was it about overeating that made me so sleepy?

Dylan sat on the other side of the couch, a good, safe distance between us. He rested one arm over the back of it, studying me with quiet speculation.

“Tell me about your last relationship,” he said.

I scoffed. “You sound like a bad psychotherapist.”

He shifted his body closer. “I can’t help it. I want to know who you’ve been with since me.”

I arched a brow. “Why?”

“Because I’ve got a masochistic side, so indulge it.”

I blew out a breath. Over the course of the last few years, I’d made one or two unwise romantic decisions. My heart yearned to find its match, but no one ever seemed to live up to the man currently sitting across from me. Now I wondered if maybe it wasn’t yearning for its match, but rather yearning for the one it lost. Dylan had been a hard act to follow, that was for sure.

“Well, my first boyfriend after you was Jonathan Miller,” I said, deciding to start with the good and work my way up to the bad.

Dylan blinked. “With the braces?”

“He had them out by the time we got together,” I defended. “And he was really nice, actually. Probably the nicest person I’ve ever been with.” A lot nicer than the ones that came after him, anyway.

“I wasn’t nice?” he feigned offence.

“No, nice isn’t how I’d describe you. Idiosyncratic is a better word.”

“Peculiar then.”

“You were when compared with ninety-nine per cent of the other boys at the Villas.”

“Maybe,” he allowed. “So, what was it like with old Johnny Miller?”

I reached over to the coffee table to pick up my glass of wine. Before we ate, Dylan broke out an expensive bottle of white, and yes, I might’ve had a shift in several hours, but I couldn’t say no to a glass. In the back of my mind, I wondered if he was trying to get me tipsy so I’d loosen up. Then again, he’d never needed alcohol for that. One look and he’d owned me.

I took a sip and placed it on the table. “It was . . . pleasant. He bought me gifts every month on payday. The problem was, I was always so busy with Gran, and he resented the fact that he came second. He was the one to break it off.”

“Dumped by Johnny “braceface” Miller,” Dylan teased. I swiped him on the arm.

“Shut up. I was heartbroken. I thought we were going to buy a bungalow together and have babies, one boy and one girl. Instead, he ended up marrying Sheena Davies.”

“He went from you to Sheena?” Dylan asked, clearly perplexed.

“I guess she gave him more attention than I did, but she’s so bossy. I sometimes saw them doing groceries together and she had him completely under her thumb. I actually felt a little sorry for him.”

“Well, he made his choice. Any man who dumps you is an idiot in my opinion,” Dylan said sincerely.

I lifted my glass, smiling as I joked, “My sentiments exactly.”

“And after Jonathan?” he went on with interest.

I grimaced. Now for the bad. “After Jonathan, I was single for a couple of years until I met Rick.” I paused, not exactly excited to get into the topic of my most recent ex. And yes, I’d had a few short flings here and there, all of them ending in heartbreak, but it wasn’t necessary to tell Dylan about those.

“Do I know him?”

I shook my head. “He was from the south side, really posh, but also kind of a dick.”

“Rick the dick.” Dylan nodded. “Got it.”

I chuckled. “That about sums him up. I was in a bad place. Gran was getting sicker and sicker, and I just needed someone to comfort me.”

Dylan frowned, his brows furrowing, like he didn’t enjoy the idea of me being lonely. “What happened?” he asked gently.

I exhaled. “I didn’t know it at the time, but I was basically his secret bit on the side. The working-class girl he’d never dream of bringing home to his parents. I was with him for almost a year when I found out he was engaged to some girl from his hometown. His family and hers were close, so they approved of the marriage. He said he got with me because he felt trapped, but I saw him for what he was: a dirty cheat who wanted the best of both worlds.”

“And you broke up with him then?” Dylan asked, jaw firm. He looked angry.

I nodded. “Yes, but . . .”

“But what?”

“He wasn’t too keen on letting me go. He kept showing up at the flat, and I was too weak to tell him no, so . . . I let him stay the night. That happened a few times. He kept telling me he was going to break off the engagement, but I soon figured out he never would. That’s when I finally pulled together the strength to end it for good.”

“Ev.” Dylan frowned, reaching out to clasp my shoulder. “I hate that you went through that.”