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 that 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 smi
le 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 sitting 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.”
I wait for him to answer my question. When he doesn’t, I press on.
“So?” I ask.
“So what?”
“So what’s your story? Why is a guy like you single?”
I pull my legs up on the chair. His eyes whip to my legs as I draw them up. My body heats from the weight of his gaze, and I try not to melt into the chair.
He looks up at me. “Why is a girl like you single?”
“Well, to be honest, I had a boyfriend not too long ago.”
“What happened to him?”
“He left me for the woman he was engaged to before.” My insides twist as I remember the phone call when he delivered the news that he was not, in fact, coming back to Indiana. That he was staying in Wisconsin with “the love of his life.” “He loved her first, and I can’t compete with that.”
Peck walks across the room and sits across from me. The scent of his body wash caresses me as he gets situated. Every cell in my body responds, becoming fully awake at his presence.
“That guy must’ve been an idiot,” Peck says.
“I’ll agree to that.” I give him a small smile. “So I answered you. Now, you answer me.”
He leans back in the chair. His body is long and lean as he looks at me over the bundle of bananas in the center of the table.
“I don’t know, really,” he says carefully. “I guess I’ve never made it far enough with a woman to ask her to move in.”
“Does this mean you and I have made it farther than you and anyone else?” I tease. “I’m so honored.”
He snorts, clearly amused at my take on the situation. “We’ll be starting a family soon.”
I think about that. “I’ve never really been dead-set on having a family.”
“Why?”
“Because my family is … a hassle. It doesn’t sound terrible to think about only having to take care of myself for a change. I sort of shunned all deep relationships for most of my life because it felt too exhausting to have to manage them.” I think about my relationship with Charlie and how I kind of forgot that for a minute. “But then I met Charlie, and it felt manageable to me for the first time. Probably because he was on the rebound, and I didn’t know it, so he was telling me all the sweet and precious things.” I laugh at myself. “And then he was on ‘a business trip’ which means a secret trip to reconcile with his ex. Then it wasn’t so manageable anymore.”
“He fucking what?” He shakes his head. “He’s an asshole, Dylan. Didn’t deserve you.”
“Yeah, well, what’s done is done.” I shrug. “And I’m tired of competing for people’s affection.”
Peck considers this. “Well, I always wanted a family of my own.”
“So why don’t you have one?”
He looks down and fiddles with his fingernail. There’s a long pause. I don’t think he’s going to answer me when he finally lifts his gaze.
“Kind of like you, I guess. I’m not sure I can manage it,” he says.
“You’re built for something like that,” I tell him. “I’ve seen you with your nana. You’re a family guy.”
He grins. “Well, that’s the thing. I am a family guy. If I were to get married, I’d be married forever. But people …” He blows out a breath. “You know, people come and go these days. They don’t commit to anything. It’s like they’re married because a big party sounds fun and then they get a wild hair up their ass, and they’re on to the next thing six months later.”
“Not if it’s love,” I say. “If you love someone, you can’t live without them. That’s what they say, anyway. That’s what I told myself when Charlie left me. He loved her first, and that’s where his love was always rooted. I can’t fight that. True love always … finds a way.”
His brows rise, and I think he’s going to laugh, but he doesn’t. Instead, he leans forward. “Does it, though? Does love always find a way? Or does it sometimes go unanswered?”
The question is fired in the tenderest of ways. It’s not a rhetorical thought; he wants an answer.
I lean forward too. Across the small square table, we look at each other. His eyes are so blue, so pure, that I could fall into them and never find my way back out.
“Can you really, truly love someone who doesn’t love you back?” I ask softly.
He raises his shoulders but doesn’t answer as if he’s expecting me to continue wi
th my thought.
“Love should be based on mutual respect. A healthy love, anyway,” I say, thinking as I go. “I’m not sure you can be in love with someone who doesn’t open themselves up to you in the same way. Maybe you can love them, but not be in love with them. Those are two different things.”
He rises slowly, tightening his towel as he stands. I get to my feet too. We stand face to face, which is entirely too close considering he’s wearing practically nothing and looking delicious. The playfulness I usually see in his eyes vanishes, and an intensity takes its place. It steals my breath.
I want to kiss him. I want to reach up and take his stubbled face in my hands and touch my lips to his, pressing my body against his.
He steps toward me, his body angling ever so slightly to mine. I think he’s going to reach for me.
His weight shifts, his fingers flexing. At the last second, he runs a hand down his cheek.
My body falls. I exhale with more force than necessary, but the breath I’ve been holding burns.
“I’m going to head to bed,” he says. “Feel free to watch television or whatever. I sleep like a rock. It won’t bother me.”
“Thanks,” I say, forcing a swallow down my throat. I feel as though I’ve been dismissed, yet not. His stare stays on my face, not once moving down my body.
He walks by me but stops at the door. He looks at me over his shoulder, but there isn’t enough light to read his expression.
I stand in the middle of his kitchen, holding my breath. I don’t know what I want him to say, but he doesn’t say anything. He just gives me a smile and disappears into the night.
Twelve
Peck
“Went by Nana’s this morning,” Walker says. He blows across the top of his coffee.
The early morning sun floods the open bay of Crank. I turn my back to the light and try to focus on the truck in front of me. It’s futile. I know it. And by the look on Walker’s face, he knows it too.
Fucker.
“Oh, yeah?” I ask.
“Yeah. Sienna made her some blueberry muffins, so I dropped ’em off.”
Crazy: Gibson Boys Book #4 Page 9