He pulls the door open and laughs. “Vine Street. Just passed Gone with the Wind. Right?”
“You don’t have to do this,” I say, following him a couple of steps out of the apartment.
He faces me head-on. It doesn’t feel awkward like it can sometimes when a guy is leaving after dinner. It feels like I’ve known him forever. Yet when I think about it, I really know nothing about him. I have the comfort level with Peck to ask him whatever I want—for him to offer to help me move—but have all these questions I’m curious to have answered.
So odd.
And so great too.
“Thank you for dinner,” he says softly. “It was delicious, and I look forward to eating more of it tomorrow.”
With a final simple smile, he turns the corner and is gone. And even though I’m now on my own for the evening, I don’t feel alone. My heart is full, and my soul is … content.
If this is any indication of what it’s like to be around Navie and her friends—potentially my friends—I just might be okay.
Eight
Peck
“There it is,” I say, passing the house with the balcony.
I pull up Dylan’s driveway and hop out of the truck. My boots dig into the soft lawn on the side of the gravel driveway leading up to a cute little house. It’s pale blue with dark blue shutters that could use a good coat of paint. There are flower bushes—roses, maybe—underneath the front windows, but they’ve seen better days.
Despite needing a little sprucing up, the place isn’t bad. The roof looks solid. The windows look like they’re in good shape, and it even has a small attached garage.
Dylan’s car is pulled up to the open garage door.
“Hello?” I call out.
Taking a quick gander around, I don’t see her.
I stand in the middle of the driveway and breathe in the clean air in hopes it settles me a bit. I’ve fought myself all morning not to get here too early. After I drank my coffee slowly, I took the longest shower of my life, then checked on Nana, left Vincent a voicemail, and did a quick scope of Crank to ensure Walker didn’t need me.
Not that it would’ve mattered if he did. It just killed time.
Leaving early last night was both a good thing and a bad thing. Good because Nana royally screwed up her meds. If I hadn’t shown up, Lord knows what would’ve happened. It was bad, too, because I kept wondering if it would be kosher to show back up at Navie’s.
Dylan is just … cool. Easy to talk to. Pretty to look at. Funny as hell. Wanting to spend more time with her isn’t the craziest thing I’ve ever had to justify.
I head up the driveway and enter the garage.
“Dylan?”
The bay where you’d logically park a car is half-filled with trash. Flies buzz the white and black bags that are piled mostly on the far side. I head farther into the room and climb two block stairs and give a door a little knock.
“Who is it?” her voice calls from the other side.
“Peck.”
“Come in,” she says.
The handle is loose as I twist it. The hinges squeal as I push the door open and enter the kitchen.
Dylan is standing at a bar that separates the kitchen from an eating area. Her bright pink shirt and yellow sunglasses tucked in the front don’t match the frown on her face.
“Hey,” I say. “What’s going on?”
She gives me a sound that I wouldn’t quite call a laugh. “Peck … This place is …”
I look around. The kitchen is old but workable. The flooring is intact but outdated. The ceiling sports popcorn from the seventies, but many houses here do.
“It’s solid. And we can fix anything you don’t like,” I offer.
Biting her bottom lip, she nods. “Go look in there.” She motions toward a doorway across from her.
I take a peek inside.
Animal hair is thick on the floor—so thick, in fact, that it almost makes a second carpet. There’s fur on top of a dresser that was left behind. The unmistakable odor of cat piss is present, and I’m sure it’d be worse if the window wasn’t open.
“Yeah …” I turn to face Dylan. “That’s rough.”
“It’s like that in the laundry room, and the living room isn’t much better.” Her shoulders fall. “I’m allergic to cats. Like, allergic-allergic. Like, allergic like I shouldn’t be in here at all, probably.”
“What happens to you? You aren’t going to die or anything, right?”
Her lips twist almost into a smile. “No. I’m not gonna die. But I probably will break out into hives, and my lips will blow up like balloons.”
There’s fear in her eyes that’s overkill over a bunch of swollen lips.
“Let’s go outside,” I say.
She looks around the room, gnawing on her bottom lip again.
I give her the look Walker gives me when he’s tired of my shit. “Come on.”
Her feet don’t move very fast, but she winds up at the door to the garage. I hold it open as she passes through and follow her into the driveway.
“I can go get one of those carpet shampooer things,” I offer. “Or we can rip it out and put something else down.”
She presses her palms on her forehead. “I don’t think I can do that on a rental.”
“Well, I’m pretty damn sure the landlord can’t do this to you either.”
“I can’t even think,” she says, squeezing her eyes shut. “I’m bamboozled by this.”
“Did your landlord not even check it before he gave you the keys?”
“I don’t know,” she whines, dropping her hands. “I think he did. He told me they left a little mess, but I was so anxious to get the place that I told him not to worry about it.” She gazes at the house. “I’m screwed, Peck. I don’t know what I can do. Cat … stuff, whatever it is that I’m allergic to, embeds itself in the fibers of a house.”
I think she’s going to cry. Her bottom lip goes between her teeth again, and she works it back and forth. Her green eyes stay wide open like she’s afraid to blink or tears will fall down her cheeks.
My stomach twists into a knot. I don’t know what to do. This isn’t my department. I’m great at executing plans but coming up with them—especially for other people—is someone else’s job.
“Well …” I jam my hands into my pockets. “I’m sure you can get out of the contract. I mean, you haven’t even moved in. Who is your landlord?”
“Mark Billingsley.”
“Want me to talk to him?” I offer.
“It’s not just that. I mean, what am I going to do? My stuff is coming in a pod thing soon, and I have nowhere to even put it now. I could fill Navie’s entire apartment with my stuff.”
She kicks a pebble around the driveway. Her shoulders are tense. Each kick is a little harder until I’m afraid that if she aims wrong, she’ll put out a window with the rock.
“Are there storage units around?” she asks.
I shake my head. “Closest one I know of is about forty-five minutes away.”
“That’ll be convenient.” She sighs as if the weight of the world is on her shoulders. “I need to find a place to rent.”
My brain goes into overdrive. There aren’t a lot of vacant houses around Linton because most people never leave once they get here. The houses I know are rentals are occupied, and most of them are owned by a guy out of Chicago who has the personality of a wounded badger.
Dylan looks down and scratches a place on her calf. “Flea bite.”
I walk a circle trying to rack my brain for something to solve her problem when I spy the leftovers she brought me for lunch. The smell and warmth of walking into Navie’s last night stuck with me all night. So did the conversation with Dylan.
All night, I wished I could’ve stayed. It was like hanging out with Walker’s girl, Sienna, or Machlan’s girlfriend, Hadley. Being around both of them feels like being with family. Like I can say or do anything without it being held over my head—in a bad way, anywa
y. My family roasts me for years over every stupid thing. At least I know they care.
Dylan is like that. But more … exciting.
“Hey,” I say, turning to face her.
Her eyes lift to mine. “Yeah?”
“I have an idea.”
“Please tell me you just thought of a place to rent for cheap that isn’t filled with animal fur.”
“Maybe I have.”
She perks up. “Really?”
“Maybe …”
This could be a terrible idea. It’s probably a terrible idea.
I try to talk myself out of saying what I’m about to say because … well, because of a lot of things. Because of that old saying not to fix what’s not broken. Because she’s so pretty. Because it would be an invasion of my personal space, and I’d be asking her to do it so I can’t even get mad when it happens.
Don’t do it, Peck …
“So I know a one bedroom, one bath,” I say in a rush before I start listening to myself. “Not that big, really, but enough room to move. Not big enough for all your stuff, but there’s a big barn out back where you could keep your stuff until you can figure out what to do with it.”
I grit my teeth as she happily receives this information.
“You do? Peck! That’s great. Where is it? Is it available? Who do I call?”
“It’s available. It’s just out of town on the other side. Near Bluebird Hill.”
“I saw a sign for that. It’s some kind of outdoors area or something?”
I nod. “That’s it.”
She looks at the house and then back at me. “Do you know how much the rent is? I was paying four hundred dollars a month for this place, and that was about the top of what I can do.”
“I think it’s less.”
“That would be perfect.” She scratches her leg again. “Who do I call?”
Rocking back on my heels, I look at the ground. “Me.”
She sighs in frustration. “Don’t mess with me, Peck. I seriously need to find something.”
“And I seriously have a room you could stay in.”
I look up at her. There are equal parts of hope and suspicion in those green orbs, but I get it. I feel the same way.
A part of me is excited at the thought of having her around to joke with for a few days. But another part is worried this might be all kinds of fucked up. But now that I’ve already spilled the beans, I have to ride it out.
“I can’t stay with you,” she says.
“Should I take that personally?”
“No,” she says with a grin. “But I barely know you. It would be super careless to move in with you.”
“I was using the words ‘stay with me’ because it sounds way less permanent than ‘move in with me,’” I say. “I don’t mean forever. I just mean while you figure this out.”
Her face falls. “This isn’t your problem.”
“I’m aware of that. But if someone has a need and you can supply the fix, you should. I have a room and a bathroom that never gets used. And a big ole barn out back that’s pretty much empty. You’re looking for both those things.” I smirk. “Or you can pile your things in Navie’s apartment, and the two of you can sleep outside. Up to you.”
She narrows her eyes. “Are you serious-serious?”
“As serious as I’m gonna get.”
“Do you sleepwalk?” she asks.
“Um, I don’t think so.”
“Do you eat a lot of beans?”
I laugh. “You’re gross.”
“I lived with a guy once that loved them, but they didn’t love him back, and I’d rather not do that again if I have the choice.”
“Well, then, I’ll explicitly ask for no beans, no guacamole when I go to Peaches and get Mexican.”
Her brow furrows. “Peaches for Mexican? That makes no sense.”
“Tell me about it.”
She rubs her forehead again as she walks in a small circle. She stops to look at the house before turning on her heel and facing me again.
“I guess it won’t hurt anything since you’re in love with Molly,” she says.
My head spins with that announcement. Molly? What the fuck does she have to do with anything, and how does she even know about her?
“What? What do you know about Molly?”
“That you love her.”
She says it carefully, testing the sound of the words in the air. Each syllable is enunciated, broken out by a thoughtful tongue.
Leaning back, she waits for my response. It’s one I don’t want to give her.
Molly and my feelings toward her are complicated.
She’s been a constant in my life—more so than anyone even knows. I don’t bother to explain it to them because it’s none of their business, for one. And two, they already have their mind made up about her.
She’s not easy to get along with. There are things about her that even I don’t love. But underneath her attitude is a person who needs someone to care about her. I promised her one day a long time ago that I would always give a shit.
It’s a promise I won’t break.
“I have things to do today, you know,” I tease.
“I’m calling bullshit because you planned on helping me today.”
“And now I’m not and could go by Crank and help Walker rip a tranny out of a SUV. Or go check on Nana or have a drink at Crave.”
“At this time of day?” she asks.
“Are you judging me?”
“Maybe.” Her cheeks split with a smile. “What’s the rent?”
“Whatever you want to pay. Honestly, the room is just sitting there.”
“Four hundred a month then. That’s what I was going to pay here.”
I laugh. “Yeah. No. How about we just talk about it later? See how you like it and how it works out?”
She wants to argue with me, but she can’t. I’m her only option, and I’m not upset about that.
“Fine,” she says with a grin. “I would love to stay with you for a while.”
I look at the sky and sigh. “Like you’re doing me some big favor.”
“Oh, but I am,” she says cheekily.
“Only if you cook a lot. Can we add that to your rent? Like you have to make dinner when you can so I don’t have to go find it every night.”
She laughs. “You never cook?”
“Never. If I can’t get Nana to make something, I go to one of my cousins’ houses. If they’re not making food, I just go buy it somewhere.”
“That’s a waste.”
“It was. Now I have you.”
We exchange a smile.
The air between us picks up, and a gentle breeze carries the scent of cat pee our way. We both make a sour face.
“Let’s get out of here,” I say.
“I need to talk to Mark and get my security deposit back.”
I head to my truck. “Follow me. We’ll take care of that together in case Mark has anything to say. Then we can head to my house.” I pop open the door when I’m stopped by Dylan’s voice.
“Hey, Peck.”
“Yeah?”
She smiles. “Thanks for this. All of it.”
“Yeah. Of course.”
There’s more she wants to say, but she doesn’t. She climbs in her car instead.
It’s for the best. I need to figure out what the fuck just happened anyway.
Nine
Dylan
“If I had known you were a hoarder, I wouldn’t have invited you to come here,” Peck says. He wipes his brow with the back of his head. “If I see another box labeled ‘Not Sure’ …”
He leans against the wall of the barn. My things, in boxes laden with my generalized description of the contents, are stacked in a neat row behind him. His jeans are dusty. Bits of cardboard are stuck to his faded blue T-shirt and dot the top of his baseball hat.
We’ve worked to unload the shipping container for the past hour. Luckily, I had my personal things—clothes I wear often,
dishes, toiletries, and the like—clearly labeled, and we took those inside his house. The rest we stuck in his barn until I can find a permanent housing solution.
“At least I’m honest,” I say. “I happened to look inside your kitchen cabinets, and I’m not sure you know what’s in there either.”
“Of course, I do. Kitchen stuff.”
“And these boxes have my stuff.”
A laugh sits on the tip of his tongue. “Two totally different things, Dyl.”
“Not really,” I say, trying to ignore the slip of a nickname. “Kitchen stuff means those items go in the kitchen. My stuff means it goes with me. Basically, it’s the same thing.”
I brush a strand of hair off my forehead. Peck watches me like he has all the time in the world and doesn’t have anywhere else to be.
I’ve noticed this is a thing with him. When he’s with you or talking to you, he’s with you or talking to you. It would be unnerving except for the fact that he seems like he cares.
Or at least has enough manners to pretend really well.
Really well.
Well enough that I’m convinced he could reiterate the gist of any conversation we’ve had thus far.
Who does that?
“I was in a hurry, okay?” I say. “And low on boxes. So a box might have some candle holders, a piece to a blender I used to have, some coffee pods, and a Christmas ornament. How would you have labeled that?”
“Trash.”
I gasp. “You did not just call my life’s treasures trash.”
“No,” he says, his blue eyes sparkling. “I called some random shit you just rattled off trash. But if the candle holders were made outta gold or something or if the ornament had your dog’s paw print from its first Christmas with ya, then that’s obviously not trash.”
“Dog’s paw prints?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Don’t people do that?”
“Yeah. With their kids’ fingerprints,” I say with a laugh.
“I bet people do it with their dogs too.”
“Maybe. Doubt it, though. Wouldn’t the paint get stuck in their fur or something?”
He shoves off the wall and walks by me with a grin. “You think too much. Come on. Let’s go get a drink.”
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