“You could put them up there,” Dylan says as she points at the top of a cabinet. “We could put some ivy around them or little lights, and it would be so fun. I think that would be so cute.”
Nana’s smile splits her cheeks. “You think like I used to think, back when I could do things for myself. It’s hard once you become dependent on everyone else.”
“Oh, stop that.” I tug open the refrigerator. “It’s not like you’re dependent on anyone. I have to fight ya to let me help you most days,” I say. I peer behind the wall of butter containers that hold various leftovers. “Has Lance been here?”
“Yes. He was here today. Why?” Nana asks.
“Because he ate the rest of my cheeseball.” The door closes with a thud. “I’m gonna kick his as—butt.”
Nana gives me a stern look. “Just do it before Sunday dinner. I refuse to get in the middle of your cheeseball wars.”
Dylan laughs. “You fight over cheeseballs?”
“Um, yeah,” I say. “If you’d had her cheeseball, you’d get it, Hawkeye.”
“Stop calling me that.” She sits across from me. “Or else I’ll call you something … Wesley.”
Our lips upturn at the same time.
“You two lovebirds are too cute together,” Nana says.
Dylan’s eyes fill with amusement. “We aren’t actually lovebirds.”
“Oh, don’t start with me,” Nana says.
“What?” Dylan laughs. “We’re not. We’re …”
Her voice drags off as the humor in her features starts to fade. She sticks her hands under the table as she looks at me for help.
“We’re friends, Nana,” I say. “You know Navie, right? This is her friend.”
“I’m old, but I’m not stupid,” Nana says. She runs a hand through the air like she’s silencing us. “You two can call it what you want, but I know. I’m not blind.” She walks to a cabinet. Bending over, she reaches for a tray and almost falls.
I spring out of my seat and grab onto her. “Whoa, there. You okay?”
“Yes.” She pats my hand on her arm. “These cabinets are just so deep. I get dizzy when I bend over and dig around for what I need.”
“Hey,” Dylan says. “I saw a thing in the store the other day. You can attach these little trays that slide in and out of your cabinets so you don’t have to dig around.”
Nana leans against the counter. “Oh, that would be wonderful. Can we do that, Peck?”
“Sure.”
Dylan adjusts her weight from one foot to the other. “You know, I don’t want to interject myself into a situation that’s not mine to be in … but, um, I’d be happy to come over and help you with those and to rearrange the cookie jars. I mean, if you want. I don’t start work for a while …” Her cheeks flush. “I’m doing that talking without breathing thing again, aren’t I?”
I wish I had a funny comment in my back pocket to whip out. That or something to redirect everyone’s attention from the fact that Dylan is looking at me. But I got nothing. This woman doesn’t know my nana from Adam, yet here she is offering her time and thoughts and energy five minutes after saying hello. Like I would or Walker or Sienna. Like family.
“You would do that for me?” Nana asks.
Dylan nods. “Sure. Of course.” She then turns to me, looking … contrite. “If I overstepped, I’m sorry,” Dylan says quietly when I fail to respond.
My tongue is tied up, twisted around as I take in what’s happening. Dylan being so sweet to my grandmother, and Nana thrilled to have someone take an interest in something she values.
“You didn’t overstep,” I tell her. “Not at all.”
My throat is lined with cotton as I try to force a swallow down the narrowed tubes. I wish I could reach for her and give her a hug, but that would be out of line.
Because she’s my friend.
And Nana seems to have forgotten that too.
“I’d love to spend time with you,” Nana says. “It would just thrill me. I was afraid I’d be dead and gone before Peck was going to settle down. It’s like he thinks I’m gonna live forever.”
“Well, that’s because you are,” I deadpan.
“And again, Nana,” Dylan says, testing out the name, “I’m not Peck’s girlfriend.” She looks at me with a weighted stare. “I’m sure whoever gets that title will be deserving of it, but it’s not me.”
“Well, it should be,” Nana says, smacking me on the chest before going into a speech about how if I don’t hurry up, she’ll never get to see my children.
I don’t want to have this conversation with Nana at all, let alone in front of Dylan.
It’s not that I’m against getting married or having a family or even having a steady girlfriend. I’m not. I even like the concept and see it work well for other people. I just don’t think it will work for me. Not really.
Sure, I’ve dated a little here and there. I’m never alone if I don’t want to be. But hopping from bed to bed like Lance did before he met Mariah isn’t that appealing, and dedicating yourself to a relationship you think might work out over time is such a drain when it doesn’t work out. Because do relationships ever really work out?
It’s so much work to care about someone on that kind of level just to see them walk away. Because that’s what people do. They walk away. Even if they love you now, even if they gave birth to you, they’ll take off for the next thing when it comes. It’s the story of my life. Besides Nana, Molly McCarter has been the most consistent person in my life when it comes to women, and we’ve never been … anything.
I look up into Dylan’s face. She eyes me carefully like she can see through me. It’s a little unnerving.
Nana sits in her rocking chair that faces the kitchen from the living room. She cringes as she gets settled.
“Where are you from, Dylan?” Nana asks.
“Indiana. I was born in Detroit, though. We moved when I was little—six or seven, I think—so I don’t remember much about it there.”
“What brought you to Linton?”
“Well, I suppose I looked up one day and realized I wasn’t where I was supposed to be.” She looks up at me and gives me the shyest smile. “I needed some space. New friends. To be closer to Navie because she gets me.”
My chest fills with a warmth that almost burns. “I can’t imagine anyone not loving your fuzzy personality,” I tease.
“Believe it or not, I can be a little too … fiery … for some people,” she says with a wink.
“Yeah, well, every group of friends needs a firecracker.”
She laughs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
“You know what I think?” Nana asks.
We both look at her. She rocks gently back and forth, a look of pure contentment on her face. “I think every firecracker needs someone to light their fuse for them to really glow.” She scoots to the end of her chair before hoisting herself up to her feet. “Now, who’s ready for dinner?”
My gaze catches Dylan’s somewhere over the middle of the island. Slowly, our faces break into a smile as something is shared during the quiet exchange. Whatever it is, it ends with Dylan’s bright laughter.
Dylan stands. “Can I help you get it ready, Nana?”
“I’d love that,” she says.
They work side by side, Nana telling war stories from the kitchen as Dylan listens intently. They laugh like old friends as they plan the changes for the kitchen. I don’t think they even notice when I get up and slip out the back door.
Planting my hands on the railing, I look at the dark sky. Stars are sprinkled above and shine down like Christmas lights twinkling softly.
I fill my lungs with air and blow it out in one long, steady gush.
My head is filled with so many thoughts. There’s a fullness in my chest that I can’t ease either. Seeing Dylan here—being so sweet to Nana and so damn pretty with a layer of orneriness just under the surface—is so confusing.
Mostly because I like it.
And I think I could probably get used to it, if I wanted to.
“Easy, Peck,” I whisper. “Don’t get in over your head here.”
Because I’m not. Yet. But I might be on my way if I don’t catch myself now.
Eleven
Dylan
“Oh, screw it.”
I rip the blankets off me. Blowing out a breath, I kick until my feet are on top of the sheets. The room is cool and dark and quiet enough to fall into a peaceful sleep.
Except I can’t. Closing my eyes just makes things worse.
My brain is too busy to let me rest. It’s like a squirrel has taken up residence inside my head. It’s bouncing from one topic to the other, replaying the events of tonight over and over again.
I can’t shake the feeling in my stomach—the one I get every time I think about Peck and Nana and dinner in her little kitchen. Nana asking me questions like she really wanted to get to know me threw me for a loop. Sure, she did it because she thought I was Peck’s girlfriend, but still. She asked.
A soft laugh breaks the stillness around me as I recall Peck’s reaction to her assumption. He was so adorable as he tried to make it clear we aren’t dating.
Because we’re not.
I flex my toes and then point them. Back and forth, they go as I try to distract myself from my new landlord. That’s easier said than done. He’s taken up most of my brainpower since we got home, and I can’t seem to shake it. Or him. Or whatever this is that’s ruining my sleep.
Peck is an anomaly, an unexpected layering of a man who is so much more than he appears. At first glance, he’s your typical good ole boy. An adorable class clown type who can’t be serious if he tried.
But that’s not all he is. Navie is a good judge of character, so I always knew he’d be a good and kind person. If she trusts him, I do too.
But seeing him care for his nana … how attentive he was, how gentle. And then how he quickly offered me a place to stay when he didn’t have to.
I’ve gotten glimpses of more, and I can’t help but wonder what else there is to see when it comes to Peck Ward.
“Ugh,” I groan. I grab my phone and fire a text to Navie.
Me: Can’t sleep. Tell me a story.
Navie: I watched two men have an arm-wrestling contest tonight at Crave, and the loser ended up with a broken arm. I heard the snap and everything.
Me: That’s disgusting.
Navie: Tell me about it. Why can’t you sleep?
Me: Don’t know. New place, maybe?
Navie: Probably. I need to finish picking up the bar so I can go home. Call me tomorrow?
Me: Ok. Be careful.
Navie:Yes, Mom.
I toss my phone on the nightstand.
Looking around the room in the muted light from the moon streaming through the window, I can make out the barn in the distance. Everything I own, except for what fits in my suitcase in the corner, is in that barn. In cardboard boxes. Probably getting trampled by mice.
What has my life become?
I never really cared to have some deep connection with a person or a place. That’s probably because I never have felt that way about anything besides Navie. But I didn’t expect to be almost thirty and basically starting over. I have nothing to show for my life up until now except for a wariness about life.
That’s sad. Even I know that.
My legs swing to the side of the bed. I get up and stretch before heading to the bedroom door. It opens quietly as I step into the hallway that extends off the kitchen. I make my way down the little corridor that holds the bedroom I’m staying in and a separate bathroom.
My bare feet smack against the hardwood floors as I make my way into the kitchen. There’s a light on above the stove but no sign of Peck. He said he had some things to do when we got home, and even though I waited around to see him again, I finally took a shower and went to bed.
I pull open the refrigerator and try not to laugh at the contents. There’s a tub of butter, a gallon of milk that I’m fairly certain is expired by the date printed on the container, a couple of takeout cartons, and a few bottles of water.
After making a note to go to the grocery store for necessities, I take a bottle of water and close the door.
The drink is cool as it trickles down my throat. I gaze out the window over the sink at the barn in the distance. The yard looks like it falls on the far side of it, and I wonder if there’s a lake or something back there.
I’m mid-daydream about swimming in the lake I might have just made up when a sound causes me to jump. I spin around and
My
Mouth
Drops
Open.
Holy effing shit.
“Sorry,” Peck says. “I … um …” He forces a swallow as he takes in my body barely covered in a pair of short shorts and a tank top. “Guess I need to remember I’m not here alone anymore, huh?”
Not if it stops you from walking around like that.
A white towel is tied around his waist. It sits just below his belly button—low enough to show off the top of the lines etched into his sides.
His body is thick and strong, his skin tanned to perfection. His stomach is cut into hard, muscled squares, and his shoulders are broad. The line from his neck down to his shoulders is enough to make my mouth water.
The corner of his lips turns up.
“Oh,” I say, clearing my throat. “Yeah. Um, I guess I need to do that too. Remember I’m not here alone anymore. I mean, I’ve never been here alone, but you know what I mean.”
My cheeks flush as he chuckles.
“Right. Learning curve,” he says.
He saunters past me like we do this every night. Like he’s not displaying a body that looks handcrafted by God himself.
He rummages around in a cabinet. I watch his back flex and his muscles move. The towel dips to the lowest part of his back, and the way his sides taper down is incredible.
I think my brain might explode.
Sure, Peck is good looking. I’d bet any girl he’s ever met has a crush on him. There’s nothing to not like. But does anyone realize just how hot this man is because, if they do, how is there not a woman here permanently?
He turns around with a box of cookies in his hand. The simple smile on his face matched with the layers of sexiness below is a complicated vision. Add in that he’s crushing on someone else and I’m his renter for a while, and that leaves me in a conundrum.
“Want one?” he asks.
Definitely.
I shake my head and try to gather myself. “No, I better not.”
“Suit yourself.” He takes a cookie and shoves it in his mouth. “I have a thing about snacking at night. I can’t sleep if I haven’t had a bedtime snack.”
I drink in his body again. “I like bedtime snacks.” Stop talking.
He flashes me a puzzled look before setting the box on the table. “So are you a night owl or just can’t sleep?”
“I can usually sleep anytime, anywhere. It’s probably because this is a new place and all.”
He nods. “Well, you didn’t really have a chance to settle in. We kind of unloaded your stuff and then went to Nana’s. I probably should’ve left you alone to get situated a bit.”
“Oh, no,” I say. “I enjoyed meeting your grandmother. I’m glad you took me.”
He gets a glass out of a cabinet. He opens the refrigerator and takes out the milk. His nose wrinkles after he unscrews the cap. “That’s spoiled.”
“I thought so. I’ll go to the store tomorrow.”
The milk hits the trash with a thud. “I can go. I just usually don’t bother because it’s just me, and I don’t eat here a lot.”
“Is there a reason behind that?” I ask.
“Behind what?”
“You not eating here?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. I just …” He shifts his weight. “If I tell you something, you won’t laugh at me?”
“I’ll do my best.”
/> “Which means you will.” He grins.
“Which means I’ll do my best. Try me.”
Stop. Talking. Dylan.
Luckily, he takes my words at face value and doesn’t read into the innuendo. I grab a seat at the table partly because my legs are a little weak and partly because it gives me a better vantage point.
He leans against the counter, his hair wet from the shower. Like me, he’s barefoot. I couldn’t paint a more delicious picture if I tried.
Still, something in his eyes mutes the vision. I brace myself for what he might say.
“When I was a little kid, I was alone a lot,” he says. “Nana and Pops babysat me most of the time when I was a really little kid, but once I was six or seven, I was in school and stayed with my parents more. Theoretically, anyway. They were usually gone.”
“So, you were home by yourself?”
“Most of the time.” His face sobers. “I remember coming home and making myself a plate of tortilla chips and cheese and watching television. And all these families on the sitcoms had big meals together, and I always thought how great that would be—to come home and sit down and have someone ask you about your day. To be there every single day.”
My chest tugs. I can just imagine this blue-eyed, angel-haired little boy sitting alone waiting. It breaks my heart. How could his parents leave him like that?
“I guess now I just … I still like that idea. And because I have no one here, I go to Walker’s or Lance’s.”
“Why don’t you have anyone here?” I ask softly. “I mean, I’m one-hundred percent sure you could have a girlfriend if you wanted one.”
He shrugs. “Probably. I guess I could.”
“So why don’t you?”
“You’re pushy, you know that?”
“I think you’ve known that since the day we met.”
He laughs. “I think you’re right.”
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