Chapter 9
"Or that Christmas at Daddy's estate," Victoria continued, her voice rich with nostalgia. "Your whole family came. It was magical—the house all decorated, the quartet playing in the ballroom. I ran into your mother in the city last year, and she said it was still one of her favorite holidays."
Dylan's stomach clenched. Of course Aidan's mother would remember Christmas parties at estates.
Dylan had shared plenty of O'Hara family holidays, but they'd been casual affairs—potlucks and chaos and laughter in the farmhouse kitchen.
Not quartets in ballrooms. Not the kind of elegant celebration that Victoria could host, that Victoria's world demanded.
"Victoria—" Aidan started, but she smoothly continued.
"I know, I know. I'm being nostalgic." Victoria leaned forward, and there was something almost kind in her expression that somehow made it worse.
"Dylan, I've heard such wonderful things about you since I've been back.
The whole town seems impressed with your restoration work.
It's quite an achievement, building a reputation like that. "
The compliment should have felt good, but delivered in Victoria's patrician voice, it sounded like someone praising a pet for a clever trick.
"Thank you," Dylan managed.
"I have to admit," Victoria said, her gaze sliding between them, "I'm curious how this all came about.
You and Aidan working together, I mean. It's such an unlikely pairing.
" She smiled at Aidan with familiar warmth.
"You always said you'd never mix business with pleasure.
Remember? After that disaster with the accounting firm in Denver? "
Dylan felt like she was watching a tennis match where she didn't know the rules. Victoria lobbed references and memories over the net, each one landing with casual precision, reminding everyone—especially Dylan—of just how much history she and Aidan shared.
"That was a long time ago," Aidan said, but his voice had lost some of its earlier warmth.
"True. But some things don't change." Victoria's eyes found his with unmistakable meaning. "You still have that tell when you're uncomfortable—that thing you do with your jaw. You're doing it right now."
She was right. Dylan could see it—the slight tension in Aidan's jaw that she'd noticed at the garage but hadn't known was a tell. Victoria knew these things. Victoria had catalogued years of his expressions, his habits, the small truths that Dylan was only beginning to learn.
"We really should let you finish your dinner," Victoria said, glancing at their cooling food with practiced sympathy. "I just wanted to clear the air. No hard feelings about the other day?" She directed this at Dylan, and it was phrased as a question but felt like a statement of dominance.
"Of course not," Dylan said, because what else could she say with the entire restaurant listening?
Victoria stood with fluid grace. "Wonderful.
Aidan, we should catch up properly while I'm in town.
I'm helping Daddy with some business matters, and I'd love your perspective.
You always had such a brilliant mind for these things.
" She pulled out a business card—of course she had business cards—and placed it on the table. "My cell's on there. Call me."
Then she turned to Dylan one more time. "It's been lovely meeting you properly. I'm sure we'll see more of each other while I'm here." The words were friendly, but something in her eyes said she'd taken Dylan's measure and found her...adequate. Maybe. For now.
After she left, the restaurant slowly resumed its normal rhythm, though Dylan could still feel glances darting their way, conversations being held in lowered voices.
Aidan sat silent for a moment, staring at the business card like it was a snake coiled on the tablecloth.
Dylan couldn't meet his eyes. Inside, she felt like an engine that had been flooded—too much fuel, not enough air, everything choked and uncertain.
Victoria had waltzed in and casually demolished any illusion Dylan had that she belonged in Aidan's world.
Charleston trips. Christmas parties. Inside jokes and tells and two years of memories that Dylan could never be part of.
"Dylan—" Aidan started.
"She seems nice," Dylan said, the lie tasting like metal on her tongue. "Apologizing like that."
"That wasn't an apology. That was a territorial marking."
Dylan forced herself to look at him. "You danced with her in the rain."
"Seven years ago. In a different life."
"She knows things about you I don't know," Dylan said quietly. "Your mother. Your tells. Your—"
"My past," Aidan interrupted firmly. "She knows my past, Dylan. But she doesn't know me. Not the me I am now. Not the me I want to be."
He reached for her hand across the table, and Dylan let him take it, though she felt like she was holding on to something that might not be hers to keep.
"That whole performance was about her trying to remind me—and you—of what we had. But what she doesn't understand is that I don't want what we had. It wasn't real. It was me trying to be the person everyone expected me to be."
"She fits in your world," Dylan said. "I don't even know which fork to use half the time."
"I don't care about forks. I care about you. About us. About building something real."
Dylan wanted to believe him. But Victoria's perfume still lingered in the air, expensive and elegant, a reminder of everything Dylan wasn't. And the way the whole restaurant had watched their interaction—she could read their thoughts. Poor Dylan. How can she compete with that?
"Hey," Aidan said softly, squeezing her hand. "Look at me."
She did, and found his gaze steady, almost fierce.
"I moved on from Victoria seven years ago. The only reason I'm even sitting here talking about her is because she won't let the past stay buried. But you—" his voice dropped, intense, "—you're my present. You're who I choose. Please believe that."
Dylan nodded, not trusting her voice. Because she wanted to believe it. She desperately wanted to believe it.
But as they returned to their cooling dinner, making conversation that felt forced after Victoria's interruption, Dylan couldn't shake the feeling that had settled into her bones like a chill—Victoria knew how to belong in Aidan's world. And Dylan was still figuring out if she even wanted to try.
They finished dinner with the quiet unease of people who'd survived a storm only to discover the damage it left behind.
As they walked home through November darkness, Main Street quiet except for the whisper of wind through bare branches, Dylan felt something fundamental shift—not in the world but in herself.
At her apartment door, Aidan pulled her close enough that she could feel his heartbeat.
Dylan's mind was still replaying the restaurant—Victoria's practiced laugh, the casual way she'd referenced dancing in the rain, Christmas at the estate, the intimate knowledge of Aidan's tells. She fits in his world. She knows how to be what he needs.
"I feel like I've wasted so much time," he whispered, inhaling the scent of her as if he were committing it to memory. "We could have been doing this for five years." He nipped at her lips and then soothed it with a kiss both soft and consuming.
The kiss scattered her thoughts like leaves in wind. For a moment, there was no Victoria, no comparisons, no doubt—just the taste of him, the warmth of his hands on her waist, the way he held her like she was something precious rather than something temporary.
Her breath was shallow and came in pants when he released her what felt like only seconds later. She didn't want him to stop.
"No regrets," she said. "The timing wasn't right."
"And now?" he asked, his green gaze intense on hers.
She swallowed hard, feeling like a coward.
She'd dreamed of this for five years, but there'd been a safety in her vision.
She'd never expected to stay here. To put down roots.
Make this her home. And now that it looked like Laurel Valley was hers, there was a whole new weight bearing down on her of what a real relationship would mean.
What if Victoria's right? What if I can't change patterns that have been ingrained my whole life?
What if I'm not enough for him—not sophisticated enough, not polished enough, not permanent enough?
"And now the timing is right to see what this is," she said. "To see if it's real."
She could tell by the disappointment in his eyes that it wasn't the answer he'd wanted. But it was the only answer she could give.
He kissed her again softly and then took a step back. "Next Saturday. Eagle’s Point. We'll search for the final clue."
"The final clue," she agreed, though they both knew they were talking about more than Patrick's treasure hunt.
She unlocked her door and went inside, closing it behind her and then leaning against it.
The responsibility of witnessed moments, of public claims and private promises weighed heavy.
Victoria had made everything look so effortless—the belonging, the memories, the way she moved through Aidan's world like she'd been born to it.
And here Dylan stood in her paint-splattered apartment, grease still under her fingernails despite scrubbing, wondering if she'd ever be more than the mechanic who got lucky.
In one week, they'd climb to the highest point on O'Hara land, find whatever Patrick had hidden there.
But would it matter? Would finding some ring change the fact that she didn't know how to dance in the rain, had never hosted elegant Christmas parties, couldn't casually reference shared memories that spanned years instead of months?
But tonight she would treasure the moments—the way his mouth fit against hers, the way his kiss had silenced all her doubts, if only briefly—and not think too much about the future.
She'd never had to think about the future before.
She'd focus on the restoration shop and the treasure hunt, and anything else could wait.
But somewhere between fixing what was broken and finding what was hidden, she was discovering that the greatest restoration project might be her own heart—learning to trust that some things, some people, some loves were worth the risk of staying still long enough to see what grew. Even if she wasn't sure she knew how.