11. Between a Jeep & a Soft Place
BETWEEN A JEEP & A SOFT PLACE
Dylan
W e ride in silence, being serenaded by the Indigo Girls.
Something has Addison staring out the window, not fidgeting, not sighing — just thinking.
That bride seems to be intense. Probably cataloging every logistic, down to what color ribbon needs to go on the bench ends.
But I’m not watching the road anymore. I’m watching her.
That’s dangerous.
I shift my grip on the wheel, pulse still ticking from earlier. The afternoon in the orchard with her felt… good. Easy. And I don’t get “easy” very often.
I mean, sure. I joke. I flirt. I fix things and build things and smile like nothing rattles me. But that’s muscle memory. You learn to be the guy everyone counts on — in a fire, on a construction site, on the baseball field. Confidence makes people feel safe.
Addison? I want to be real with her.
That scares the hell out of me in the best way.
Because I want her to look at me and see more than the kid from Birch Harbor who can swing a hammer and flash a grin.
I want her to see the man — the one who stayed behind when his teammates went pro, who helped rebuild his uncle’s contracting business from a two-star Yelp page, who runs toward fires when most people run away.
And yeah, maybe I want her to see the guy who’s been noticing the way her curls bounce when she laughs and the way her eyes flinch when she tries not to feel something.
Maybe I want to be seen by someone like Addison.
Which is exactly why the moment Cassandra’s Jeep pulls up beside us at the stop sign, I feel my entire body go tight. Cassandra, Birch Harbor’s social influencer. I never really got why or how she got such a strong national and international following.
Her blonde ponytail swings into view before her voice does. “Dylan!”
Addison doesn’t react. Not visibly.
I do.
“Who’s your date?” Cassandra says, her gaze drifting past me to Addison. It’s not rude. But it’s not friendly, either.
I keep my voice casual. “Just heading back from a site consult, Cass, no reason to start any rumors.”
Cassandra leans a little farther out her window, all painted nails and cheerful menace. “You didn’t tell me you were working with THE Addison Bennett. She planned my cousin Riley’s wedding. Lavender and eucalyptus. Made my allergies flare up for a week.”
Addison smiles politely. “Yes, that was me. Sorry about that.”
I want to say something. Deflect. Reclaim the moment.
But Cassandra keeps going. “We’re grabbing drinks at the lodge next Friday. You should come, Dylan. We haven’t seen you out in ages.”
I feel Addison shift beside me, just slightly, like she’s making herself smaller.
“Maybe. I’ll see how the week goes.”
Cassandra grins, waves, and peels off. Her tires spit gravel behind her.
I don’t speak until we’re halfway across the lot. “She’s just a friend.”
Addison chuckles. “You don’t have to explain yourself, Coach.”
Maybe not. But I want to.
“She’s the kind of person who likes being seen with people. Not for who they are, but for how they make her look.”
Addison finally turns toward me, brow raised. “And how do you make her look?”
“Like she won a prize,” I say flatly. “Which is weird, considering she never actually wanted me — just wanted to make sure no one else did.”
That slips out before I can catch it. But I don’t take it back.
Because it’s true.
I’ve had relationships before. Short ones. Easy ones. The kind where everyone laughs, takes selfies, and keeps it light. Nobody digs too deep. Nobody asks what keeps you up at night. Cassandra was one of those.
Addison? She’s the opposite of that.
She watches like she wants to understand — not judge, not manipulate. Just… understand.
And that’s rare.
That’s why I offered to build the wedding arch.
Not just because I can, but because she looked like she was going to break from holding everything up alone. And I know what that feels like.
We reach the parking lot. I kill the engine and lean my arms on the wheel. “I don’t like the way that felt.”
“How what felt?” she asks.
“Cassandra, her flair for drama.”
“It’s a small town,” she says quietly. “Exactly what I said. People notice, then they talk.”
“Yeah. But it bothers you.”
Her fingers tighten around her clipboard. “I’ve spent a long time building trust here. Being reliable. Professional. The kind of person people turn to when things fall apart.”
I nod. “And you’re worried that being seen with me will…”
“I don’t want to mix my professional life and personal life, and I don’t want potential clients thinking I would.”
I’m not sure what I can offer to counter her argument.
She reaches for the door handle.
“Good work today, Addy.” I extend my hand as an excuse to stay with her a moment more.
The nickname slips out before I can weigh it, and the way her eyes widen — surprised, pleased — sends a little jolt straight through my chest. She sets her hand in mine for what should be a quick, professional shake, but the contact lingers... one, two, three heartbeats.
“See you Thursday evening?” I ask, thumb brushing her knuckles before I can stop it.
“Six sharp, I’ll bring pie,” she says — voice steady, though I hear the slight hitch under the word sharp .
“Text me when you’re home safe, okay?” My grin feels ridiculous and unstoppable.
She nods, slides out into that honey-colored light, and shuts the door with a soft thump. I wait to leave until her hatchback coughs to life. Only then do I pull away, taillights winking at her like a conspiratorial goodbye.
Halfway down the block, I notice I’m still smiling. Cruel to Be Kind starts looping in my head again, and I don’t even try to fight it. Orchard 1, Coach 0… and I’m completely fine with the score.
Because for all her polish, Addison Bennett is scared. Not of me, but of what loving someone like me might cost her.
And yeah, maybe I’m younger. But my sisters have trained me well, and I know what I want.
I don’t want the girl who wants to be seen on my arm.
I want the woman who sees right through me and still lets me in.
The woman who makes to-do lists like armor and smiles like it costs her something.
The woman who thinks I make her reckless, when really, she makes me steady.
And I’d build a thousand arches if it meant watching her finally believe she’s not in this alone.