Do You Still Love Me When We Meet Again? (Aubrey and Damon) novel Chapter 42

Chapter 42

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The dazzling glow of fireworks was brief.

The simple, peaceful days continued.

Damon made time every day to apply Aubrey’s ointment, three times a day, without fail.

After two days off, Aubrey went back to work. The ointment application times shifted: before work, after work, and before bed.

What started as tense and awkward had now become second nature, even routine.

As night deepened.

After her shower, and before getting into bed, Aubrey habitually picked up her phone and sent Damon a message: “I’m ready for bed.”

Upon receiving her message, Damon would drop whatever he was doing, knock on her door, and come in to apply her ointment.

The air had gotten colder again. Aubrey, dressed in thick flannel pajamas, sat on the edge of the bed, turning her back to Damon.

Damon picked up the ointment, unscrewing the cap as he spoke. “Antibiotic cream can’t be used indefinitely. After this, you’ll just apply the growth factor gel to ensure no scarring.”

“Okay,” Aubrey replied, tugging at her pajamas. They were loose, thick, and soft, making them a hassle to pull aside.

She didn’t want to lie prone on the bed. Crossing her arms, she grabbed the hem of her pajamas, and with one swift pull upward, the entire garment

came off.

Her dark hair spilled from her sleepwear, cascading like a waterfall over her pale, delicate back.

There was nothing underneath; her slender, pale back completely bared.

She gently tilted her head, sweeping her long hair forward, using the sleepwear to shield her front.

The enticing sight registered fully in Damon’s eyes.

His head snapped towards the balcony, his Adam’s apple bobbing, breath coming in ragged gasps. His voice, a low rasp edged with sudden seriousness, accused, “Aubrey, you’re pushing it.”

Aubrey, taken aback, turned her head to look at him.

She saw he was deliberately looking away, unwilling to look at her bare back.

They’d applied the ointment so many times. Now he was shy?

Aubrey felt unfairly accused, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Aren’t you here to put ointment on me? How did I end up being the one who’s ‘too

much“?”

“Who told you to strip?”

“My sleepwear is too thick. It’s awkward to pull up, so I just took it all off.”

Damon took a deep, shaky breath, lowering his head and closing his eyes. “Do you really take me for ‘the Gentleman,‘ impervious to temptation?”

“I…” Aubrey finally understood what he meant and hastily tugged the duvet up, adding another layer of cover. A prickle of injustice rose in her. “I wasn’t trying to! I just figured there wasn’t a difference between lifting my shirt or taking it off. It’s just my back, either way.”

“It might not make a difference to you, but I’ve been reacting quite strongly today, and it’s not exactly comfortable.”

Aubrey froze.

Just from looking at her back… every time?

Her cheeks flushed suddenly warm, and her heart skipped a beat. She hastily pulled her shirt back on.

The room fell silent, the air seeming to thicken, charged with an unspoken heat.

Aubrey lay back down on the bed, burrowing her face into the pillow. Her breath hitched, her heart thrumming an uneven rhythm.

Damon took a moment to compose himself, stifling the simmering heat coiling within him. He turned back, looking at the woman sprawled on the bed, gently lifting the fabric on her back before carefully applying the ointment.

Aubrey’s mind raced.

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Just looking at her back, what was the real difference between taking off her top and simply lifting it up?

Was it because he could see her shoulders and arms too?

But she had no idea.

From a man’s perspective, what he saw wasn’t as important as the chemistry the action sparked.

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The act of undressing, the subtle tilt of her head to brush her hair away–these actions were irresistibly tempting. Every subtle movement was imbued with a sensual charm, enough to set a man’s imagination aflame.

Tonight, his fingers were light and slow as he applied the ointment.

The already awkward atmosphere stretched out, making the silence feel endless.

A slow burn spread through Aubrey’s body. She couldn’t just drift off to sleep while he applied the ointment, not when she’d be completely unaware of when Damon finally left the room.

She couldn’t stand the silence any longer. In a small voice, she said, “Damon, you don’t need to apply the ointment for me anymore. I can do it myself.”

Damon’s fingers paused. “Are you upset just because I told you that was inappropriate?”

“No, it’s just that I can apply it myself.”

“And how will you do that?”

“You can probably see the injury on your back in the mirror,” he said. “Just try reaching around to apply it, but if you can’t, don’t worry. It’s only on your back, a scar there won’t matter.”

“How can it not matter?”

“No one’s going to see it.”

“Your future husband won’t see it?”

A small stone seemed to drop into the quiet pool of Aubrey’s heart, sending ripples spreading through it.

Her mind was a chaotic mess. Picking up on his words, she questioned, “Why are you so accepting of another man seeing my scars? Of me marrying someone else?”

Damon’s face darkened instantly. The hand that had been applying the ointment slowly withdrew, meticulously twisting the cap back on the tube before placing it back in the bag. A dense, suffocating gloom settled around him, as if a personal storm, complete with torrential rain and hurricane–force winds, had abruptly erupted directly above his head.

Aubrey smoothed down her shirt, sat up, and her gaze lifted to his.

Damon let out a low, stifled breath, his eyes meeting Aubrey’s. “Is it another man?”

The question made Aubrey freeze.

She stared into the man’s dark, fathomless eyes. His burning gaze held disappointment, a deep sense of loss, and a flicker of wounded vulnerability that stirred something within her.

The intricate mix of suppressed and controlled emotions warring on his face made her heart ache with an unfamiliar, profound tenderness.

When

you

loved someone, your eyes were always the first to give it away.

She’d seen the way

Damon had loved her, and she couldn’t pretend ignorance, couldn’t play dumb now.

Even now, Damon had never explicitly said he forgave her, nor had he admitted he still loved her, but she keenly felt the depth of his devotion.

In his heart, Damon hated the woman she’d been, but for the woman she was now, surely he still held some hope?

If she answered, “It must be another man,” today, would she just break his heart all over again?

She considered for a moment.

Aubrey started to speak, a small sound escaping her throat, “It’s also-”

1

Damon suddenly stood up. “That’s enough. Don’t say it. I don’t want to hear it.”

With that, he turned and walked out, his steps heavy.

Aubrey’s heart suddenly ached, a heavy, blocked feeling settling in her chest. Seeing the profound loneliness in Damon’s broad back, a wave of panic

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washed over her.

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Even if they were only friends living under the same roof, she dreaded Damon shutting her out, treating her with cold indifference.

“It doesn’t necessarily have to be someone else,” she called out, her voice loud and urgent.

Damon’s hand, which had just gripped the doorknob, froze mid–air. He stood rooted to the spot, unmoving.

After a long moment, he didn’t turn around, but his voice, surprisingly soft, reached her: “Goodnight.”

That single “Goodnight” spoke volumes.

At least she hadn’t completely shut him down emotionally.

Aubrey let out a soft sigh of relief, smiling as she whispered back, “Goodnight.”

Damon opened the door, stepped out, and gently closed it behind him.

Aubrey’s entire body went limp. She collapsed onto the bed, her nose stinging, her eyes suddenly brimming with tears.

She tugged the comforter into her arms, clutching it to her chest as if Damon himself were there. “Damon,” she murmured softly, her voice barely a whisper, “if you still have any feelings for me, please just wait. Wait until I can clear my father’s name and restore our family’s honor. I’ll beg for your forgiveness, and I’ll be the one to chase you.”

“I’ll strive to be better, to be more worthy of you. Please, just wait for me a little longer.”

The next morning.

The temperature had plummeted to forty–five degrees Fahrenheit, and for the damp chill of the south, it was absolutely brutal.

Aubrey wore two thick layers and carried a long black puffer coat in her hand.

She walked out of her room, placed the puffer coat and her bag on the sofa, and headed for the kitchen.

Damon was already up, cooking breakfast in the kitchen.

“Good morning,” Aubrey said, walking in and greeting him softly. She asked curiously, “What’s for breakfast today?”

“Morning,” Damon replied, turning to look at her, a warm, gentle smile gracing his face. He answered softly, “Egg pancakes, multi–grain porridge, and freshly made soy milk.”

“Do you need any help?” Aubrey asked, walking over to him and watching him flip the egg pancakes.

The multi–grain porridge was simmering in the rice cooker, the soy milk freshly blended. With the pancake batter perfectly mixed, there wasn’t much left for him to do, but Damon still handed her the spatula. ‘Give it a try,‘ he said, a soft challenge in his voice. ‘Just don’t burn it.‘

‘Okay.‘ Aubrey accepted the spatula, taking over the pan, and with a surprising natural grace, began flipping the pancakes.

Damon slipped off his own apron, then moved behind Aubrey, wrapping it gently around her waist. ‘Aubrey,‘ he said, his voice soft near her ear. ‘I have a question that’s been on my mind.‘

‘Go on,‘ she prompted.

‘Your mother, with her preference for her sons, even taught your brother to cook. So why didn’t you learn?’

‘How do you know my brother can cook?‘ Aubrey asked, genuinely taken aback, turning to meet his gaze.

Damon cupped her face, gently turning her back to the stove, making sure her gaze was on the pan, lest the pancake burn.

“I met your mom once,” Damon said, his tone light. “She complained about it.”

A frustrated sigh escaped Aubrey. Of course, her mom would complain about her flaws to a total stranger on their very first meeting. That was classic her mother.

“So, are you going to complain about my cooking skills too?” Aubrey asked, feigning a huff of indignation.

“No, not at all. I was just curious,” Damon chuckled, reaching over to turn off the burner. “It’s perfectly cooked. You can take it off the pan

now.”

Aubrey quickly slid the pancake onto a plate, set the pan down, and then reached for the burner again, relighting it.

Damon, already holding the ladle, scooped up a fresh batch of batter. “Your turn for the oil.”

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Chapter 42

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Aubrey drizzled in a bit of oil, and Damen poured in the batter. She expertly swirled the pan, letting the batter coat the surface in a thin, even layer.

Their teamwork was seamless, a natural rhythm flowing between them.

Aubrey explained calmly, “I’m not a genius; my good grades came from hard work. But every day after school, I had so many chores, and cooking was the most time–consuming and exhausting. If I learned to cook, I wouldn’t have any time to study at all. So every time my mom tried to teach me, I’d dump a huge handful of salt into every dish or use soy sauce like it was water.”

Damon chuckled.

Aubrey continued, “When my mom made me do the dishes, I’d wash half and break half. You know how I am–she could kill me, and I still wouldn’t change. We were already poor, and she couldn’t afford for me to keep breaking things. So eventually, she stopped making me learn to cook, and she rarely even let me do the dishes.”

Damon tapped the back of her head lightly, a soft laugh escaping him. “That’s classic Aubrey.”

Aubrey couldn’t help but laugh. “If you ever make me cook, I’ll do the exact same thing.”

The future?

Was he talking about their future as roommates, or the kind of future she secretly craved?

Damon paused for a beat, then said, his voice firm and serious, ‘While we’re living together, I’ll teach you to cook.”

Why do I have to learn how to cook?‘

“When I’m here, I won’t let you lift a finger. If I’m too busy, we’ll just hire someone. But what happens when I’m not around? Are you just going to live on takeout? And microwave dinners?”

Aubrey flipped the omelet, a wave of melancholy washing over her.

When he’s not around?

Back when they were together, maybe he’d never imagined they’d part. In their four years, it had never once occurred to him to teach her how to cook.

Now he knew, though, that life was unpredictable. No one ever truly knew what the future held.

He’d seen her life centered around takeout and pre–made meals, witnessed her complete inability to cook, her fridge stuffed with frozen foods, and her pantry stacked with cases of instant ramen.

It was a reality he never wanted to witness.

“Okay, I’d love to learn how to cook from you whenever I have time,” Aubrey replied, her voice light and easy, but inside, her heart was brimming with

emotion.

This was the future parents were meant to envision for their children, and yet, the words were coming from his lips.

It felt like falling in love all over again.