Dawn jerked her head up to stare at him. ‘Me?’ It was never her. That was the point.
Cooper nodded. ‘Because I meet people every day, Dawn. And I don’t let them in. I don’t want to let them in. I didn’t want to let you in.’
‘I kind of got that.’
‘But you got there anyway. And maybe that’s just forced proximity in Claudia.’
‘You’re making this sound like a sort of Stockholm Syndrome friendship here,’ Dawn pointed out.
‘Or maybe it’s just you,’ Cooper finished as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘But the thing is, Dawn, I’m a different person with you. And I like him a lot more than the person I’ve been since Rachel left me.’
Rachel. So that was his ex-wife’s name.
‘So...me and this new you,’ Dawn said cautiously. ‘We’re...friends?’
‘Yes,’ Cooper said, but there was something in his voice. A note of uncertainty, maybe. Something she couldn’t quite place until he added, ‘Except I keep dreaming about your pink lipstick.’
Score two for Flamingo Shimmer.
‘My lipstick?’
When had he got so close? One moment they were sitting beside each other on the bench, a perfectly respectable distance between them, and now...now she could almost feel the warmth of his skin in the sunshine as his arm brushed close to hers and his lips moved closer.
‘Uh huh. I keep imagining how it would feel to kiss you. Dreaming of it, in fact.’
‘Just...kissing?’ Dawn asked, because apparently she didn’t know when just to go with a good thing.
‘No,’ Cooper admitted. ‘Not just kissing.’
And then, before she could even process that thought, Cooper leant in that extra inch and suddenly his lips were on hers, warm and soft and perfect, just as she’d imagined.
Until they were gone again, far too soon.
‘I shouldn’t have done that.’ Cooper pushed away against the floor until he was sat at the far end of the bench.
‘I beg to differ.’ Dawn said, her lips still tingling.
‘You’re engaged to my brother.’
‘He left me at the altar,’ Dawn pointed out. ‘I think that’s a pretty clear sign that it’s over.’
‘Then why are we chasing him across the country?’ Cooper raised his eyebrows as he waited for an answer.
Dawn stared at him in amazement. ‘Oh, my God. You think I’m going to beg Justin to take me back!’
‘Well, aren’t you?’
‘No!’ Dawn said, but honesty compelled her to add, ‘Maybe I might have wanted to, at first. Just a bit. But that’s not why we’re on this road trip. It’s not what you think.’
‘Then explain it to me. Please.’
It wasn’t a story that Dawn really wanted to tell, but the brief flare of hope that shone in Cooper’s eyes told her she needed to.
‘Okay. But not here. Come on, we need to get Claudia back on the road if we want to stop in Cleveland tonight.’
She stood and held out a hand to Cooper. After a moment, he took it. And somehow, as they walked to the car, he never quite let go.
CHAPTER TWELVE
‘DO YOU KNOW what my sisters call me?’ Dawn asked as Claudia pulled out of the Marblehead Lighthouse State Park.
Cooper glanced across at her in surprise. Given their previous conversation, this was not where he’d imagined their talk going next.
‘Dawn, I’d assume,’ he said flippantly.
‘They call me the Dry Run.’ There was pain in Dawn’s voice—pain he wanted to kiss away, if only he hadn’t been driving. But, for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what the nickname meant.
‘I don’t get it.’
‘Every guy I’ve ever dated—and I do mean every single one,’ she clarified, leaving him wondering exactly how many there had been. ‘Every guy I’ve ever been out with has left me then gone on to meet the love of his life and marry them within the next two years.’
Cooper blinked. Suddenly the number seemed more relevant than just calming his sudden jealous spurt. If it had been one or two guys, that might be put down to coincidence. But more...
‘How many boyfriends are we talking here? For statistical reasons only, I promise,’ he added, when she started to object.
‘Five,’ Dawn answered. ‘Six if you count Billy Nolan, which I suppose we could.’
‘Billy Nolan?’
‘We were ten, so the marriage part took a little longer. But the next month a new girl moved to town and they were sweethearts all through secondary school and university, and got married the day after graduation.’
‘Six men. Six different men seriously passed you up to marry someone else?’ The words were out before he could think about their implication, but the pink tinge on Dawn’s cheeks told him she didn’t much mind.
‘I’m the girl guys date for years, knowing it’s not everything they ever dreamed of but thinking it might be enough—until they find the real thing and they realise I could never compare.’
Okay, now he understood that pain. The bitter ache he heard in her words. The crushing feeling of never being enough, of not measuring up. Of being a fool for ever thinking you could. He knew exactly how that felt, and he hated that Dawn had ever had to experience it once, let alone six times. It made him wonder how she could possibly keep picking herself back up and trying again. How she could keep that unflagging optimism.
But the one thing he couldn’t help but notice she hadn’t said was that she didn’t want Justin back. She might not plan to beg, but that wasn’t the same as not wanting.
He wouldn’t press her. But he wouldn’t ignore it either. And he knew he couldn’t kiss her again, not as he had by the lighthouse anyway, without knowing her intentions towards his brother. Knowing if she still loved him.
Which meant they were on hold. But they were still friends, and suddenly he wanted to give some of that friendship back to her.
‘Rachel cheated on me on our honeymoon,’ he said, without really knowing why. Maybe he just wanted to offer her something of his own pain to balance things out.
He saw Dawn wince out of the corner of his eye, and kept talking just to stop himself having to hear her inevitable sympathy and pity.
‘In fairness, she’d been cheating on me all through our engagement too,’ he said. ‘And I didn’t actually find out until we’d been married a month or so. Turns out that the whole fidelity part of marriage had passed her by entirely.’
Dawn shook her head. ‘I don’t understand. Why would she do that? How could she?’
Because all she wanted me for was my name, my lifestyle and, most of all, my money.
But that truth still hurt too much to share, to know that his entire worth could be numbered in dollars and still be found lacking.
‘We had different expectations from marriage, I guess,’ he said instead. ‘She wanted someone who would pay for the lifestyle she wanted—who would get her into the parties and places she thought she belonged in. Someone who could give her prestige and position and the money to do anything she wanted. And I could give her all of that, of course. In return, I just wanted her love, but apparently that part wasn’t for sale.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘It was years ago now,’ Cooper said, trying to brush her pity aside. He didn’t need it. ‘And at least she taught me an important lesson about people.’
‘Which is?’
‘You can never know another person fully. Not really.’ Cooper’s realised his knuckles were white where he gripped the steering wheel, and tried to loosen his hold. ‘The best you can try and do is know yourself.’
‘And do you?’ Dawn asked. ‘Know yourself, I mean?’
Cooper looked across at her. ‘I always thought I did,’ he said, softly. ‘Until I met you.’
* * *
‘We still need to talk about that kiss,’ Dawn reminded Cooper as they stopped outside their adjoining motel rooms in Cleveland that night. She’d had a text from her credit card provider with the news that her limit increase had been approved, so she’d insisted on paying again. Of course, that meant they were in a cheap motel on the edge of the city with doors that faced out onto the car park and a cheap porch covering overhead—because the increase wasn’t that much—but she still felt better for being able to pay her way.
Even if the walls were so thin she’d probably be able to hear Cooper snoring that night. Or if he called out anything in his sleep.
Like maybe her name...
‘We do.’ Cooper sounded exhausted and he leant against the wooden doorframe as he spoke. The second part of the day’s driving—which should have only taken another hour or so—had ended up taking three, thanks to a pile-up on the interstate. They’d stopped and eaten a silent, exhausted dinner on the way into town so they wouldn’t have to leave the motel again once they were checked in.