Chapter 6 #2
"You don't have to come with me," he says as he gathers his keys. "You can stay here and relax. The door code is on the fridge if you need to go out."
"Are you kidding?" I say. "I would not miss watching you finish that masterpiece."
He grins. "All right then. Let me get Maddie settled with my mom, and we’ll head over."
We drop Maddie at Linda's house, where she is immediately swept up into baking cookies and playing with her grandmother's collection of mismatched teacups. Linda gives me a knowing look as we leave, and I've a feeling she is going to have a lot of questions for Dylan later.
The drive to the bakery is quiet but comfortable. Dylan reaches across the console and takes my hand, threading his fingers through mine like it's the most natural thing in the world.
"Thank you," he says quietly.
"For what?"
"For last night and not making me feel broken."
I squeeze his hand. "You’re not broken, Dylan, you’re healing. There’s a difference."
He glances at me, and the gratitude in his eyes makes my chest tight.
When we arrive at the bakery, Evan is already there, prepping the morning rush. He takes one look at us walking in together and grins like the Cheshire cat.
"Well, well," he says. "Look who is glowing this morning."
"Evan," Dylan warns.
"What? I'm just saying you both look happy. It's a good look on you."
I laugh, and Dylan shakes his head, but there is no real annoyance in it.
I set up my camera while Dylan gets to work on the final details of the phoenix cake. Watching him work is mesmerizing; every stroke is deliberate, and every detail is perfect. He adds delicate sugar feathers that catch the light like real flames, and the effect is breathtaking.
"This is going to blow people away," I say softly.
"It's just a cake," he replies, but I can hear the pride in his voice.
"It's art," I correct. "And it's going to mean everything to this town."
He pauses and looks at me, and the moment stretches between us, warm and charged.
"You make me believe that," he says quietly. "You make me believe a lot of things I stopped believing in."
"Like what?" I ask.
"Like second chances," he says. "Like the idea that maybe the future doesn't have to be something I just survive. Maybe it can be something I actually look forward to."
My throat tightens. "Dylan."
Before I can finish, the bakery door opens, and a woman walks in. She’s older, probably in her sixties, with kind eyes and a warm smile.
"Dylan," she says. "I heard you were finishing the festival cake today. I had to come see it."
Dylan straightens, wiping his hands on his apron. "Mrs. Patterson. Of course. Come take a look."
The woman walks over to the cake and gasps. Her hand flies to her mouth, and I see tears well up in her eyes.
"Oh, Dylan," she breathes. "It’s beautiful."
"Thank you," he says gently.
"My husband would’ve loved this," she says, her voice thick with emotion. "He always said this town would rise again. He believed it even when the rest of us could not."
I realize with a jolt that she must have lost her husband in the fires.
Dylan steps around the table and takes her hand. "Tom was a good man, this cake is for him, too, it’s for everyone we lost."
She squeezes his hand, tears streaming down her face. "Thank you. Thank you for remembering."
They stand there for a moment, two people united by grief and survival, and I feel my own tears threatening to spill over.
After Mrs. Patterson leaves, Dylan returns to the cake, but I can see the weight of the moment settling over him.
"You did a good thing," I say softly.
"I just made a cake," he replies.
"You gave her hope," I correct. "You reminded her that the people she lost mattered. That is more than just a cake."
He looks at me, and I see the emotion swimming in his eyes.
"Come here," he says quietly.
I set down my camera and walk over to him. He pulls me into his arms, and I feel him take a shaky breath.
"I don't know what I did to deserve you," he murmurs against my hair.
"You didn't have to do anything," I say. "You just had to be you."
He holds me tighter, and I let him, understanding that sometimes people just need to be held.
When he finally pulls back, there is a determination in his eyes that was not there before.
"I'm not letting you go," he says. "I don't care if that is too much too soon. I'm not letting you walk away from this."
"I'm not walking away," I promise. "I'm right here."
"Good," he says. "Because I think I'm falling in love with you."
The words steal my breath.
"You think?" I manage to say.
"I know," he corrects. "I'm falling in love with you, Piper. And it terrifies me. But I would rather be terrified with you than safe without you."
I reach up and cup his face, my thumb brushing across his cheek. "I'm falling in love with you, too."
The smile that spreads across his face is worth every risk I've ever taken.
He leans down and kisses me, slow and deep and full of promise. And for the first time in my life, I understand what it means to feel like I'm home.
Not a place. A person.
And his name is Dylan Hayes.