Chapter 39

                                    

                                          
Ada doesn't remember the last time she slept so well, even if the tent is filled with darkness when she wakes. Before her eyes have opened, she can smell the faint scent of amber from the man beside her, warm in every thinkable way. She must've shifted onto her back at some point in the night, but his arm still rests lazily over her midsection as she ponders the roof of his tent. 
It's a comfort she could never find in the endless hotel rooms she rented out over the years, soothing the ache that's resided in her chest for as long as she can remember. The world outside the tent could be engulfed in flames, but the hum of Dutch's snore along with the slow rise and fall of his chest would be enough for her to not be concerned one bit.  
The ephemeral bliss concludes when she remembers how little time has elapsed since the end of his indelible relationship with Miss O'Shea. Falling back to sleep isn't a possibility, the few precious hours she did have being enough fuel for her worried mind to force itself to be listened to. She questions her sobriety these past few days, accepting him back with open arms after his almost non-existent attempt at grovelling. It would have been wise to make him sweat for a while and refuse him at least for a few days so he has to deal with the uncertainty of whether or not he'll get her back. 
Get her back, as if he'd even asked her to be his to begin with. 
Ada's thoughts are seemingly loud enough to wake Dutch as well as render her incapable of registering that the sound of his snore has ceased. 
"What's on your mind?" he murmurs, body remaining motionless. 
"Nothing."  
"Stop lying. You can ask about her, if you want."  
"Not sure if I want to know," she blinks at the ceiling.  
"There isn't much to know," his voice is laced with mirth. 
She tilts to head up to look at his face, eyes still closed but lips upturned slightly. "What are you smirking at?"  
"I like you when you're jealous."  
"I'm not," she clucks, returning her head to its previous position.  
"Stop lying."  
"You're a piece of work," she rests her hand over his forearm, fiddling absentmindedly with the multitude of hairs that reside there. 
He shifts slightly, unaltering his position and sighs. "She was a very nice lady." 
Ada doesn't respond. 
"She was well-educated, had good taste, eager to please, ambitious... quite the dreamer, too." 
"I'd really rather not hear -" 
"But," he interrupts. "Every date that followed the first was exactly the same. Predictable - I got everything I wanted and expected from her." 
"I don't see why that's a problem." 
"I knew what was coming every single time. It isn't like that with you," his soft tone is a rare one, like he's only capable of bringing it out in the dead of night when the rest of the world sleeps. 
Ada chews on her lip, looking down at her fingertips that meander through his arm hair. It's probably true that there's something deeper and more meaningful hidden between his words that she should dig out and listen to, but sometimes she wishes he could just say what he means instead of dancing around it. 
"I've told you before," he grumbles, "you drive me insane." 
She wishes she could be honest, tell him that this all feels a little backhanded even if his intention is well-meant. Biting back her truth, she shifts her gaze up to find his serious eyes now open, looking down at her. "I'm never going to be a lady, Dutch. Not like that, at least."