Savior Complex: A Small Town Love Triangle Romance

He pulls out his own phone and winces. “Almost midnight,” he laughs. I laugh too, realizing we made a forty-minute walk last two hours.

We talk the rest of the way, as he tells me about the tours he leads along the beach, and I share about life in a coffee shop. I know my stories are not as interesting as his, but he listens as if they are. By the time we turn onto my street, I know he’s a morning person like me, has one younger sister, and has watched every episode of Six Feet Under. About me, he knows how much I hate cleaning, how much I loved my Nanna Dot, and the titles of all the books on my nightstand to help feed my nightly reading habit. At the moment, it’s Before She Finds Me by Heather Chavez, Iron Flame by Rebecca Yarros, and Hello Stranger by Katherine Center.

“I’ve never been to college,” I admit as we turn on my street. I hate how close we are to home, knowing that the night is about to end. “I don’t know what it’s like, or even what it’s like to be in a new town. So tell me, what was your favorite part about moving away to go to college?

“Not much,” he laughed. “The classes were boring, and honestly, I don’t even know what I was doing trying to get a business degree. But I did become somewhat of a baseball fanatic. My roommate was this rich kid from Wyoming with a dad who grew up in San Francisco. For Christmas, Freddie scored season tickets at Club level for the San Francisco Giants. Whenever he couldn’t impress a girl to go with him, he took me. And I started paying attention.” Brayden ducks his head and gives me a side glance before breaking into a Tony Bennett song about leaving his heart in San Francisco. “They play that song every night after the game, when we’re crowded like cattle on the winding ramp that leads to the street. It’s been a few years, but every time I hear that song, I’m back in the fog, smelling bacon wrapped hot dogs from street vendors, and feeling the cold ocean air on my face, even in summer.”

He whistles that Tony Bennett song; one I’ve heard so many times before. I’m listening as he tells me all this, but a different memory is weaving into the story. My grandmother crooning along with Tony Bennett while washing the dishes, and me at a table writing a list.

The list. Suddenly, I’m anxious to get home, and relieved as we approach the old Victorian. I don’t want to leave Brayden, but I have a hunch about something, and it just can’t wait.

“Well, this is me,” I say, and he groans in protest, but with a smile on his face. He looks up and whistles.

“Wow, you live here? How many of you are in there?”

“Just me,” I say, suddenly a little shy. The house is three stories including the walk out basement, plus the tall first floor perfect for a fifteen-foot tree at Christmas—which I get every year in Nanna’s memory. This means that the house looms over us, with its dramatic steeple roofline, quaint bay windows, and the stained-glass door that rests at the top of the stairs and expansive porch. With five bedrooms, multiple sitting rooms, and a full library, it’s too much house for one person. And ever since Maren moved out, I’ve never felt more alone.

I’m not sure how to say goodbye to Brayden. Our time together has been incredible, even though we were thrown together by circumstance. He’s no longer a stranger, seeming like someone I’ve known forever. But in reality, we’ve only known each other for two hours, and in a few moments we may never see each other again.

“Let me get your number,” I blurt out. “If you wait a second, I can grab my phone. Maybe we can catch a drink and continue this conversation, or…”

The way his eyes shift, I realize I misread things. No, I was delusional about things.

I shake my head. “Sorry, we can call it a night and you can get back to wherever you need to go. I’ve already taken up enough of your—”

“No, it’s not that.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I have a girlfriend.”

It’s like all the air is sucked from the space around us, then lands with a whomp at my gut. Of course he has a girlfriend.

I try to think up a response, something funny to make it seem like being interested in him was the furthest thing from my mind. But all I want to do is disappear, to forget how much of a fool he must think I am.

“It was nice to meet you,” I say. “Thanks for saving me and all that. I’ll be more careful next time.” I turn to go, but he grabs my hand and pulls me to him. My hand flies to his chest, keeping the distance between us. “What are you doing?”

He drops his arms immediately, releasing me. But I can’t turn away from the pained expression on his face.

“You felt it, right?” He looks at me with such pleading. Like he’s begging me to know what he’s talking about.

And I do.

“I felt it,” I whisper.

“I haven’t felt that in… I’ve never felt that. Not with anyone. And I’m sorry if this makes me seem as big of a creep as those guys back there—”

“Well, you have a girlfriend.” He’s never felt that with anyone? Not even her?

“But I have a girlfriend,” he agrees. “Which is why it’s completely inappropriate for me to give you my phone number.”

“Right,” I say. I nod, feeling like a total fool.

“So tell me yours,” he murmurs.

I look up at him, trying to see if I heard him right. He raises an eyebrow, then pulls out his phone and waits.

I am not some saint. I’ve dated guys with girlfriends before and could have given a rat’s ass about being the other woman. In fact, it was always the preferable scenario. If they were taken, I didn’t have to worry about the drama of a relationship or having to answer to anyone. I didn’t even care that I was sharing a guy. I was there for one reason only, and it sure as hell wasn’t love.

But this is different. I hardly know this man, and I already know I’d never share him with anyone.

And yet, I can’t help giving him my phone number anyways. He types into his phone for a long time, then I hear the unmistakable swoosh. Message sent. He looks up and winks at me. And it’s so damn sexy, I have to fight the urge to bite my lip…or lean over to bite his.