Derek watched, smiling, before starting the coffeemaker.
* * * *
I can’t tell him what my dream was really about. Joe flipped the second omelet, let it cook a moment more, and then put it on the other plate. He wouldn’t like it if he knew I was dreaming about him. Hell, I don’t like it because nothing will come of it. Why him? Why now? Like I don’t know but I can’t act on it even if he was interested in me that way. I just can’t. He wanted to hit something, throw something, let his anger out about what he’d been through that had made him so afraid of getting into a relationship. How could he care about me? How could anyone? He didn’t have an answer for his questions. All he knew was he’d have given anything to go back and change what had happened.
* * * *