Wyatt Drake

by Emilia Hartley

  Here, in Grove, she could feel a curious sensation in her feet. They itched and tingled, not to move, but as if she were growing roots. She could feel them taking root in town. No, not just in town, but in Wyatt. He was a sturdy tree she could lean against until her roots were deep enough that she could stand on her own.

  While she got ready for the day, she kept glancing at the phone, waiting for it to ring so she could hear his voice again. When it never rang, she shook her head and told herself he needed space. Besides, he wasn’t the only reason she’d come to town. She had work to do. It would keep her occupied until Wyatt showed up again, until the next time she could learn a bit more about him.

  She locked the hotel room door behind her, sliding the key card into her back pocket. The elevator at the end of the hall was old and opulent, a reminder of days when everything was gilded. The doors slowly drew open and she stepped inside, feeling the elevator swing uncertainly beneath her feet.

  Her stomach churned. The gears groaned, but it faithfully descended to the first floor. She was thankful when her feet touched solid ground again because the groans echoed up the elevator shaft behind her.

  Someday, she thought, that elevator will go crashing down.

  Kennedy shook her head to clear it. Immediately, thoughts of Wyatt rose. Her mind filled with images of him, his tight smiles and bronze hair. Everywhere she looked, she thought she saw him. None of the men were him, though. Perhaps they were dragon men, like Wyatt, with broad shoulders and shining hair, but they weren’t the one she wanted.

  She continued down the street, scanning shop signs for something that would take her mind off Wyatt for a little while. She desperately wanted macarons or maybe a thick slice of cookies and cream cake. What she found was decidedly not confectionary, but it intrigued her, nonetheless.

  Metal shelves filled with unpainted ceramics stood in the window. They were all raw and ugly, even if their shapes held promise. She saw flat plates, tea sets, and fat mugs just waiting to be painted. Some unhinged part of her thought of a fat mug, one painted by her own hand, that she could look at every morning. She imagined it in a place of her own, a home.

  Never before had she yearned for anything so much. She let her eyes drift closed and summoned a vision of this home, letting this new sensation roll over her. Her feet tingled again, the roots burrowing deeper.

  “I should have known I’d find you around town,” Wyatt said.

  She opened her eyes to find him standing beside her. He glanced at the ceramics in the window, one brow rising. The words that came out of her were preposterous, but she wanted to see his reaction anyway. She wanted to see him hold a tiny paintbrush even more.

  “Come inside and paint a mug with me.” Kennedy grabbed his hand and tugged him inside. To her surprise, he didn’t fight it.

  Wyatt let himself be led inside. Quickly, she remembered his words and snatched her hand back. Wyatt needed to make the decision to love her on his own, not because she could barely keep her hands off him. Instinctively, she touched the mark on her neck.

  She’d yet to run into any of the other shifters in town to see if it worked. If Wyatt stayed around, she would never know if it was the mark or his presence that kept the others away. She bit her lip, thinking that she should have sent him away, not dragged him inside some craft shop.

  “Let me get this right. You want me to…paint?” Wyatt picked up one of the mugs. His hands dwarfed the ceramic vessel.

  Kennedy couldn’t help but remember those massive hands on her, sliding along her body. Her mouth went dry and she looked away to hide the craving that nibbled at her.

  “If you don’t have time, you don’t have to stay. I just thought it would be something fun to do.” Kennedy couldn’t look him in the eye. She was so full of fear and lust, and she worried he would be able to read it all on her face.

  No matter how much she wanted him, there was always a possibility that Wyatt would realize this was a rebound. She knew he’d just gotten out of a relationship. Heading right into another was never a good idea. The bonds forged in those moments were brittle and likely to snap without much pressure.

  There was a chance that she would be nothing more than a blip in his life, someone who’d helped him get over a larger ache. She, too, would have to get on with her life. She would have to buy another one-way ticket to a place where no roots would grow. That was if the roots she sprouted now didn’t hold her in place.

  She couldn’t imagine how painful it would be to trap herself in Grove only to have Wyatt turn her away in the end.

  “No, it sounds like fun. I’ve never done anything like this before, but it’s not like you’re asking me to jump out a plane with you.”

  She chuckled. “Like jumping out a plane would be an issue for you.”

  He could sprout wings whenever he wanted. The fall would mean nothing to him. She caught the glint of laughter in his eyes and the way his lips parted as if he had more he wanted to say, but it was silenced when an employee walked up to them.

  The teenager in a paint-smeared apron helped them pick out their paints and set up their stations. Wyatt looked like a giant in his chair, knees jutting out from beneath the sides of the table. Kennedy couldn’t hide her laughter any longer and pulled out her phone to take a picture.

  He glared at her, but not the way he glared at the dragon shifter the day before. This glare was lit by mirth, which he tried to hide when he shook his head.

  “How about this,” Wyatt suggested. “I will paint a mug for you if you paint one for me? Does that sound fair?”

  Kennedy ducked her head. She knew this was crossing a line, but she couldn’t help but want it. They should be keeping their distance, just long enough for Wyatt to get his head sorted. Kennedy was addicted to him, though. There was no way she could say no. She wanted this exchange of hearts, even if it seemed a trivial thing.

  “I’d like that,” she finally whispered.

  While they sketched their designs on the ceramic surfaces and poured paint into little plastic pallets, they talked about their lives. Mostly, Kennedy told him about her trips across the country. She had a nearly endless vault of stories to share. He sat quietly, laughing at the right times, listening until the end.

  All the time she talked, she managed to sketch a funny looking dragon on the mug. It wasn’t the best-looking creature, in no way realistic, but she did her best.

  “What are you drawing on yours?” Wyatt asked.

  She pulled the mug close and covered it with her hands, feeling heat creep onto her cheeks. “It’s, ah, it’s a secret.”

  He raised a brow. “Oh, is that the way you want it to be?”

  Kennedy bit her lip. She wasn’t sure what he’d say when he saw what she’d drawn for him. If he hated it, she would have to start all over again. She thought he would look at the fat, ugly creature she’d drawn and find offense in it.

  Creating something filled her with unease, concern after concern tumbled through her mind. Across from her, Wyatt gathered his things and stood. She held out her hand to stop him, but his grin made her pause.

  “If you won’t tell me what you’re doing, then mine has to be a surprise, too.” Wyatt shuffled over to another table and began laying out his supplies once more.

  Every now and then, they would steal peeks at one another. Each time, they caught each other in the process and twisted to hide their progress. Kennedy’s heart swelled and a warmth built inside her. She realized this was happiness. How long had it been since she’d felt anything like this? Truly, it’d been too long if she couldn’t recognize it.

  “I’ve never done anything like this,” Wyatt confessed at his table.

  She glanced back, but he was bent over his project. “What do you mean?”

  He paused, sitting back in his chair. “All of my dates have been either quiet dinners or boring movies. This is…it just means a lot more. You know?”

  She returned to her own project, regarding the mug tilted in her hand
s and the paint taking form. Slowly, her mind caught up. This wasn’t just spending time together. They were making something for each other. There was more meaning to the minutes ticking by when they knew those minutes were dedicated to seeing the other smile later.

  “Yeah. I think I get what you’re saying.”

  “Tell me what your worst date was,” Wyatt asked. “I feel like a failure since I left you alone at your own table. Please tell me there were worse dates.”

  “Do you count the creep who inserted himself at our table yesterday?”

  A low growl emanated from Wyatt’s table. Quickly, she turned the conversation around, searching for an old date, one that was not a threat.

  “There was this guy back when I was a teenager. He told me he knew about a waterpark nearby. I’d never heard of a waterpark in the area, but I was so excited that I didn’t give it much thought. When we got there, half the slides were leaning, and the other half looked like they were kneeling.

  “I climbed to the top of a slide and took one look before I left him standing there by himself. I mean, there were nails sticking out of everything. It was a cheese grater waiting to happen.”

  “A cheese grater?”

  “Nails. Everywhere.” She shook her head. “I still don’t know if the guy went down the slide by himself. I remember seeing him back at school the next week. He wasn’t a bundle of meat ribbons, so I’m guessing he never did it.”

  “Meat ribbons?” Wyatt’s shoulders shook with laughter and she felt a bit of pride. “I’m really enjoying your choice of descriptors. They really bring the story to life.”

  “What can I say? I’m a writer.” She imagined his tight smiles were relaxed into something more real. Knowing that was her doing warmed her. She wanted to see him smile over and over. “How about you? Any truly bad dates in your life?”

  He was silent for so long, she feared she’d crossed a line. That his past was his and that she shouldn’t be digging. Then, he let out a languished sigh. She craned her neck to peer at him, but he never turned so she could see his face.

  “I think my worst date was a warning that I didn’t heed.”

  Kennedy waited for him to go on, thoroughly confused now. His shoulders bunched again, and his hands stilled.

  “I took her hiking. I thought it’d be a good time to talk and get to know one another. The whole time we hiked, she complained. If it wasn’t her heels hurting after a quarter mile, she was complaining about the sun being too bright, or the hum of the bugs in the distance. The bugs weren’t even biting her. She just didn’t like the sound of them.”

  “She sounds like she didn’t like the outdoors,” Kennedy said, though she couldn’t relate. The world had so much to offer, not all of it found behind the glass case at a bakery.

  “I think she just hated everything,” Wyatt went on. “Date number two was a dinner. I figured if we were inside and she could sit down, then she would be happier. Instead, she sent her plate back three times and strong-armed the waiter into a free dessert.”

  “I’m glad you ended it there.” Kennedy used the silent moment to add detail to the dragon’s tail on her mug, but when the silence stretched too long, a stone fell in the pit of her stomach. “You didn’t end it there. Did you?”

  “I’m an absolute fool,” Wyatt said. “I dated her for two more years before deciding I was going to propose to her.”

  She was struck. Not just by his willingness to be blind, but his desire to be loved, even if he had to imagine love where it didn’t exist. Slowly, she pushed her chair back. At first, Kennedy didn’t know what she was going to do, only that she had to do something. The chair let out a soft screech against the floor.

  Wyatt protested when she stepped near, rushing to hide the mug he was painting. Kennedy smiled and knelt beside his chair. From there, she looked up at him. His eyes swirled with hot bronze, and his lips parted. She wanted to claim them, to mark them as hers, but she knew this wasn’t the right time. He needed to…

  What did he need? After the story he told her, Kennedy realized Wyatt needed to learn what it meant to be loved. Sure, she’d only known him a short time, but the potential for love was there and it spoke truer than anything she’d ever felt. There was no way to explain it. She had no words that would make sense of what she intrinsically knew.

  Kennedy reached up, her fingers touching the curling hair at the nape of his neck. He said her name, barely a whisper on his lips like a prayer or a blessing. Unable to stop now, she pulled him to her. His lips were hesitant at first. She took it slow, each small movement a question and a promise all in one.

  She asked permission, to kiss him, to love him. But she also promised that she would be there to show him what it meant to be loved, how love could change their lives. Finally, he opened up to her. He leaned in and his tongue pressed against hers. She fought back the moan in her throat, trying to keep the kiss appropriate for public, when she wanted to pull him to the floor and feel his weight atop her.

  When she pulled back, his eyes remained closed. Wyatt’s expression was one of intoxication, as if he savored the taste of her on his lips. Kennedy would have promised him there would be much more to come, but Wyatt needed to come to that decision on his own. She couldn’t force this to happen.

  “I should go finish painting your mug,” she said quietly.

  He reached for her, then clenched his fist. She watched, wondering if he was fighting against himself. In the end, Wyatt nodded, and she retreated.

  The dragon on her mug took form. She layered metallic paints over the scales so that the beast shimmered when she turned it. The mug looked dull otherwise, not yet gleaming like the other ceramics she’d seen in her life. She trusted that some sort of magic would happen once they handed the pieces over to the employees.

  Once they were finished painting, the employee told them the pieces would be glazed and fired in the clay oven. The mugs wouldn’t be ready for a few days, meaning she wouldn’t be able to see what he’d painted for her. Despite her desire to know what he’d created, she was okay with this.

  It meant there would be another reason to see him again.

  “You know,” Kennedy began as they left the shop, “I still owe you dinner. I promised to make you dinner the first time we met.”

  “Was that the first time we met?”

  She knew what he meant. The morning at the diner felt like ages ago, but it had only been two days. Since then, she’d learned that he was not just a man but a magical dragon shifter. The truth should have frightened her, but she felt a twinge of excitement.

  “You’re really…” She bit the inside of her cheek. What was she going to say? That he was a pretty dragon? Men probably didn’t want to hear about how pretty their scales were. What she’d planned on saying faded to nothing.

  “I’m what? I’d love to know what you think of me?” Wyatt nudged her with his elbow. “Am I too sour? A curmudgeon? I’ve been called both before.”

  Kennedy was aghast. “No. I would never say anything like that. You haven’t been sour with me.”

  He studied her face for a long while. She wondered what he saw there. Was he searching for a lie? Because he wasn’t going to find one. She’d thoroughly enjoyed his company and every time he left, she couldn’t wait for the next time she would run into him.

  They kept coming together like this. She felt like a comet shooting through the sky with no purpose only to be snatched by his gravitational pull. He drew her in and kept her rotating around him. Perhaps that was why Grove called to her. It wasn’t just the picturesque buildings, the sprawling mountains, or the good food around every corner.

  It was Wyatt.

  She hoped, with everything she had, that he would fall for her just like he promised.

  “Kennedy? Are you alright?”

  She startled and found Wyatt watching her with concern furrowing his brows. His lips were parted, and she wanted nothing more than to reach up and steal another kiss. She wouldn’t, even if she
felt an unseen force at her back, pushing her toward him.

  “I’m fine,” she lied. It wasn’t that big of a lie. She couldn’t tell him that she was worried he would realize he might never love her, or that she feared it was her own need to be loved driving her toward him.

  He nodded, clearly unconvinced. “Well, I think your dinner offer was repaid the other day when you took me out.”

  She scowled. “But I didn’t even pay for it. You put it on Jasper’s tab.”

  He shrugged, as if there were no difference. Kennedy realized she’d convinced herself that if she could cook for him, she would steal her way to his heart through his stomach like a spy sneaking into enemy territory. It wouldn’t work that way, though.

  This was his decision. All she could do was wait for it to be made. The wait was maddening, but each step they took left her hopeful. The moments they shared were filled with the bright intensity of a possible future, one she craved more than anything.

  More than macarons or coffee.

  “Thank you for today,” she whispered, letting the subject slide.

  “You act like today is over.” His hand slid into hers. “The day has just begun. I’d like to spend a little more time with you. If that’s alright?”

  She nodded, eager to remain in his presence. Even if they weren’t talking, letting silence hang between them, she was happy. They continued to walk for a while. The mountain’s chill winter air didn’t bother her as much when he was beside her. Eventually, she begged him to stop for cocoa because she needed something to warm her from the inside out.

  Kennedy wanted to know everything about Grove and the dragons that inhabited it, but she didn’t know if she was allowed to ask in public. She figured she would have to wait for a time when they were alone, though they’d rarely escaped the eye of pedestrians or waiters as long as they’d known each other. Wyatt wasn’t ready to go back to her hotel room, even if it would allow them some privacy.

  Everywhere she looked, now that she knew the truth, she saw evidence of dragons. There were wrought iron dragons hidden in the gates of old homes, dragons painted on the sides of buildings, and ceramic dragons guarding doors. They sprouted up here and there.