4. Chapter 4 No White Picket Fences
Dylan: October
Making my way home, the cool fall air doesn’t reach me—thoughts of Jenna’s green eyes and her raspy voice moaning my name while she’s riding me are heat enough. I barely know her, but one thing’s clear… I get a hell of a lot more done when she’s not around.
Focus on the road, man. She’s married. Off limits. But there’s no rule against fantasizing.
The tires crunch over the gravel as I pull into my driveway.
My place needs work—a small country house on quiet land, but I’ll never get tired of the view.
Endless grass, open space, wild horses in the distance, no neighbors in sight.
And all mine. Gabriella’s beat-up old Volkswagen is parked crooked in my spot again.
Note to self: get the damn spare key back.
I take a breath and shake off the thought of Jenna before killing the engine. The second I shut the door, Kreuger and Jaws pop up in the window, tails wagging. They wait while I knock the dirt off my boots, then immediately pounce on me the second I walk in.
Gabriella’s standing at the fridge, barely five feet tall with her oversized ‘90s T-shirt and dark curls covering half her face. She’s mid-chew surrounded by open containers and trails of crumbs on the counter.
“That better not be my hot chicken in your mouth,” I warn, tossing my keys on the table.
“Technically, no… I just swallowed it.” She grins as the dogs circle her, waiting for scraps. “And apparently, I’ve been told I’m good at that.”
“Jesus, Gabriella. Gross,” I mumble, pulling a bowl of salad from the fridge and tossing some onto a paper plate. She laughs, unbothered, and we take the food and settle on the couches.
“Met someone last week at one of my reno jobs.” I keep my tone casual, but I already feel her radar activate. “Her name’s Jenna. Event planner. She’s… interesting.”
Gabriella freezes. “Interesting like ‘new friend’ interesting, or ‘something more’ interesting?”
I roll my eyes and wipe my mouth. “Relax, she’s married,” I say, trying to convince myself and her that there is no more to it.
She eyes me from the recliner chair. “Lucky girl,” she mutters, moving her plate away as Jaws—my feisty Chihuahua-French Bulldog mix, all teeth and no shame—zeroes in on her food. “She’s dodging a bullet anyway with your non-committing ass.”
Before she can finish the sentence, Jaws launches onto the couch, swiping a piece of chicken right out of her hand.
“You little shit!” Gabriella gasps, lifting her plate above her head. Too late. I can already hear Jaws chomping down on it under the table.
Meanwhile, Kreuger, my German Shepherd, lounges on the floor, completely unbothered. Gabriella gestures to Jaws, exasperated. “Why can’t you be more like Kreuger?”
I laugh. “Karma. That’s what you get for eating my leftovers and running your mouth. Always asking when I’m going to quit being a bachelor and settle down.”
Her gaze sharpens. Gabriella’s the one person I trust enough to share real-life shit with. But even with her, I’m not willing to say too much about Jenna.
“What?” she says. “I didn’t say anything that’s not true.”
“Funny. Real funny.” I shake my head, trying to push Jenna out of it.
But she slips right back in. How she lit up when we talked about traveling.
How she looked bent over her desk, helping that cranky office manager without a hint of annoyance.
How she’s adorably clumsy. And sweet. And more magnetic than any woman I’ve met.
I clear my throat. “Anyway, I got her number for you… in case you want to check her out for your wedding.”
“Does she have a website or photos?” she asks. “Why should I use her?”
“Because you’re on a budget, and Miles will call off the engagement if you spend another dime.
Jenna’s offering a discount, and her style is like yours—sage walls, some artsy mural thing, desk covered in plants.
You’d love it.” Even if Jenna hasn’t officially said yes to planning this event, I feel confident she will.
There was something about her expression that tells me she could use this distraction.
Gabriella sighs, handing Jaws the last bite of my dinner.
“Fine. Miles will probably kill me if I blow more cash. Give me her number. I’ll call her once we finally agree on what season to get married in.
” She shoves her empty plate at me. “And fix my alternator, or I’m crashing here tonight and raiding the rest of your home-cooked food.
” I wouldn’t put it past her. She hates living with our mother, and Miles is old school and won’t let her move into his house until they’re married.
“Blah, blah. How does he even want to marry you?” I laugh and wonder momentarily what it’s like to find someone you want to spend the rest of your life with. Until Krueger’s chew toy flies past me as I dodge it from the couch and make my way to the stairs. Real mature, Gabriella.
I need a fucking cold shower. My mind’s too full of… her .
Gabriella’s tone drips with mockery as she picks up my phone from the counter. “Oh, Dyl-annn, I had sooo much fun last night.”
I freeze mid-step.
“Who’s Amber?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. “And Mom called you back-to-back, like ten times.”
“None of your business,” I say, annoyed. “Now get out of my kitchen and clean up your mess.”
She barely flinches, flicking through more messages. I really need to change my password. Who even is Amber? Wasn’t her name Annabelle? Or was it Anastasia? I mutter under my breath, turning back to snatch my phone.
“Damn, Dilly Willy. You’ve got a whole roster going. How hasn’t your dick fallen off yet?”
“Never call me that again.”
Her expression shifts from playful to dead serious. “Dylan, it's been almost ten years. When are you going to stop avoiding what happened? And settle down? I want to be a hot aunt, not an elderly one. You’re thirty-three, Dilly.”
My fingers grip the edge of the counter. I don’t need another reminder. “Exactly—thirty-three. Not sixty-three. Life’s short, Gabs. Not everyone’s meant for picket fences and forever. And I’m not ‘avoiding’ anything—the past is exactly that. The past. I’m good.”
She rests her hand on mine. “You know you don’t always have to be perfect, right?” she asks. “Or act like everything’s okay.”
I pull away, reaching for my phone. But I do. It’s easier. I’ve spent so long holding it all together. Holding me together. I’m scared that if I let go of even one piece, the whole damn thing will fall apart.
“If you ever need to talk, you know where to find me.” Her voice softens.
“Yes, in my damn fridge.” I brush it off. “I’m happy, okay? Really. Now, let me take a shower.”
And release some of the tension I’ve had ever since butterfingers bumped into me.
The moon is full tonight as I run along the path behind my house.
Kreuger’s panting beside me in a steady rhythm.
The only other sound is my feet hitting the dirt.
The quiet always clears my head. Jaws stayed behind, passed out on his orthopedic shark bed by the fireplace, probably next to Gabriella, who’s still hiding out at my place.
On the way back, I check my phone. A text from Annabelle. I chuckle—at least I remembered her name. She wants to meet up again. Another fun night of meaningless sex and zero conversation. Not sure I’m up for it.
I start to reply, but then find myself messaging Jenna instead.
Me: Hey, it’s Dylan, the contractor. My sister said she would love for you to plan her wedding. I hope it’s okay, I gave her your number.
Ten minutes pass. No response. I shouldn’t double-text. But I do.
Me: Did the dolphin we made get to your daughter’s school alive?
The second I hit send, I want to take it back. She’s got a husband. And kids. Even a new kitten, from what she tells me.
Instead, I message Annabelle hoping she can help scratch this itch I have, when my screen lights up again.
Jenna: I’m happy to report the dolphin was alive… until my youngest ate it after school. Also, I don’t remember agreeing to anything yet.
Me: Okay, let me know when you do.
I put my phone in my pocket and head inside before I say something inappropriate.