Chapter 11
ELEVEN
DALTON
I’m kneeling beside my toolbox when Drew comes barreling down the hallway, almost knocking me to the ground. She stops abruptly, causing me to flinch.
Jesus, I thought I had better reflexes.
I guess being distracted is my new normal now whenever I’m around Savanna. After feeling her body pressed against mine and almost claiming her lips for the first time in six years, I can barely function.
Gathering my bearings, I turn my attention to Drew in her Christmas pajamas. “Do you need any help?” she asks, ungracefully plopping down next to me.
I chuckle as I try to regain my balance. “Well, let’s see.” I scratch my jawline and look around, in search of a job for her. “You can read me the directions on the back of the thermostat box for me?”
Drew lets out a giggle, slapping her hand on her forehead. “Dalton!” she shrieks. “I can’t read!”
My eyes widen as I match Drew’s laughter. “Oh, you can’t? What grade are you in, again?”
“First,” she says proudly. “But my teacher said we will be reading by the end of the year!”
I do a mental calculation. First grade, that makes sense.
“Well,” I say, giving her an elbow bump for encouragement. “I’m sure you’ll do great.”
“You think so?” Her voice comes out eager.
“I know so.” I wink as I watch a smile beam across Drew’s face.
“I can’t wait,” she squeals. “My mom cuddles me every night and reads me a bedtime story. It’s my favorite!”
She leans across me to peek into my toolbox. I shake my head at the mental picture Drew just painted for me of her bedtime routine. The sweet image of Savanna and Drew tucked under the covers with a pile of books—most likely princess books—causes a yearning to overcome me.
I quickly shake that thought as I watch Drew explore the toolbox with curious eyes. Her fingers land on an old yellow tape measure that belonged to my dad. I let out a chuckle as she tries to measure her hand.
“How about this, Drew? You can be my helper and hand me anything I need.”
Drew’s eyes light up. “Oh, I’m a great helper!”
“I’m sure you are,” I snicker.
Standing up, I turn my attention back to the water heater. “Alright, helper. Screwdriver,” I say, sticking out my hand.
I watch Drew’s brows pinch together as she tries to figure out which tool that is. Her hand lands on a pair of pliers.
“Close,” I assure her. “That’s for cutting wires.” I point to the red Phillips lying next to the toolbox. “That’s a screwdriver.”
Drew makes a sound of realization as she picks it up and hands it to me. “Oh...I thought this was a hammer. My mom uses it all the time when she hangs pictures on the wall.”
My eyes widen as I do a double-take at what she just confessed. “Wait, What?”
Drew shrugs.
“Yeah, she just bangs it on the wall,” Drew says adamantly, as she flings the tool around in the air.
Good God.
I trade my shock for a bellowed laugh as I watch Drew’s impression of her mom. “How about this, Drew? While I’m changing this thermostat out, we’ll go over all the tools in the toolbox. They’re old, since they were my dad’s. I’ve had them since I was a kid. But they still do the job just fine.”
Drew bounces on her heels, happy with my idea as she starts to rummage through the steel box. The sound of the tools clinking together fills the hallway. “What's this?”
I glance back at her from the water heater. “Crescent wrench.”
“Oh.” Drew sets it down and keeps digging through the box. “This one?”
“Joint pliers,” I say over my shoulder as I place the new thermostat against the heater and fasten it with screws.
When Drew’s questions suddenly stop, I glance back at her.
I find her watching me intently, her piercing blue eyes trailing my every move, like she is learning for herself.
The look displayed across her face is strikingly similar to the one I used to wear when I watched my dad working at her age. Curious and observant.
I quirk an eyebrow as I study her further. As she’s about to reach for the needle-nose pliers, Savanna’s voice rings from the living room. “Drew, I sure hope you’re not distracting Dalton.”
Drew gives me a mischievous grin before standing and bolting down the hallway toward her mom. Shaking my head, a laugh falls from my chest as I watch her blonde hair fly down the hallway.
I turn my focus back to fixing the water heater, hoping to finally buckle down before Savanna has the chance to question my handyman abilities.
I can’t screw this up.
Thirty minutes later, I clean up my workspace and head back into the living room, setting my toolbox down by the front door.
I peek out of Savanna’s front window and notice the sun is setting—golden, yellow hues against the Atlantic.
I instantly add Tybee Island sunsets to my growing list of things I miss about this place, with number one being Savanna.
The closer I approach the kitchen, the more I hear Savanna and Drew’s voices mingling with the tune of country music.
Making my way closer to them, my eyes snag on the framed photos lining the wall.
Leaning closer, I study the photos—trying my best to catch up on the last six years of Savanna’s life.
My eyes narrow as I take in the wave of memories. Fuck. I’ve missed a lot of Savanna’s life.
And Drew? She deserves to have a dad around to share these memories.
I rub the ache away that’s suddenly formed from the thought of Drew not having her dad around—the realization hits like a wave that we have that in common.
A missing puzzle piece.
Straightening myself, I continue to make my way into the kitchen.
I stop in my tracks when I spot Drew on the counter, swinging her feet while she sings along to Tim McGraw.
My eyes land on Savanna at the stove, her back to me as she stirs a pot of boiling pasta while tasting a smaller saucepan with a wooden spoon.
A smile spreads across my lips as I watch Savanna sway to the music.
Drew stops singing at the sight of me and shrieks, “Dalton! Are you done? You took for—ev—er.”
“Sure am, Miss Drew,” I say, stepping closer to high-five her. “The hot water is all fixed for you, ladies.”
Drew giggles. “Yay!”
Music to my ears.
Savanna stops stirring the pot and turns toward me. She’s gnawing on the inside of her cheek, arms crossed over her chest.
“Thank you, Dalton. You really saved the day today. It would have taken me all weekend to figure out how to change that thermostat out,” she admits bashfully, cheeks turning pink with her confession.
“Are you hungry by chance? There’s plenty here if you want to stay and join us tonight. It’s nothing special, so no pressure…you totally don’t have to…but I thought it was the least I could do to say thank you for today.” She fidgets with the wooden spoon in her hand, waiting for my reply.
My eyes narrow on Savanna, studying her pressed lips and rigid posture—like she doesn’t know if this dinner invitation is a good idea. Drew quickly makes it hard to back out when she claps her hands together and pleads, “Yes! Please stay, Dalton! Mommy is making my absolute favorite!”
“Well...” I play along. “That depends on what your favorite dinner is.”
“Pasta, of course,” Drew exclaims. “What else would it be?”
I laugh at her cheekiness. “Well, you’re in luck then because pasta is my absolute favorite dinner, too.” I wink, giving her a fist bump.
“It is?” Drew’s eyes widen. “Mommy! Did you hear that? Dalton’s favorite is pasta, too.”
“Yeah, I did hear that,” Savanna says over her shoulder, still stirring the sauce.
“Just like me!” Drew squeals, high-fiving me again. Glancing at Savanna, my eyes travel up her smooth, tanned legs, landing on her full hips that were just pressed against me an hour ago.
Jesus.
What I want to do to her right now in this kitchen is animalistic.
I push my filthy thoughts down with all my strength. Taking a step back, I watch Savanna cook while Drew sings along to the music. This moment together feels incredibly domestic and homely.
Is this what I’ve been missing?
Savanna turns toward me, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Don’t think you're getting off scot-free, Dalton. I know for a fact your mother taught you your way around the kitchen.”
She’s being playful now.
And I’ll take this version of her any day.
I take the apron dangling from her hand, our fingers brushing together lightly, causing my heart rate to skyrocket at the slight contact.
Get a grip, Dalton.
I slide the red ‘Kiss the Chef’ apron over my neck and tie the strings behind my back.
I guess I’m taking orders from Savanna now. She watches me with the same hunger in her eyes as earlier. “You're right about that, Savanna. I do know my way around the kitchen.” My eyes give her a long once-over, starting at her vanilla-blonde hair and landing on her baby-blue painted toes.
Itching to get closer to her, I bridge the gap between us. “How can I help?” I ask, trying to be on my best behavior in front of Drew.
Savanna licks her lips as her eyes land on the apron pulled taut around my chest. “Can you dice the tomato, cucumber, and carrots for the salad, please?”
Taking them from her, I wash and dice the produce while Savanna strains the cooked pasta.
We fall into a comfortable silence, as we ebb and flow around each other, like we’re doing a choreographed dance. The dance of my arm brushing hers, her hips bumping mine, my chest pressing into her back as I reach around for a towel.
Oops. The last one was intentional.
Fuck, I think this may be my new favorite kind of dance.
Savanna hisses at the contact. “Dalton...” She drags out my name in a warning, glancing over her shoulder.
“What?” I say, feigning innocence, holding my hands up in defense.
I take another step closer, my chest pressing into her back again, and tip my mouth down toward her ear. “I’m wearing a ‘Kiss the Chef’ apron, you know.” My voice comes out in a gravelly whisper, causing gooseflesh to scatter across Savanna’s arms.
She glances over her shoulder, eyes lingering on my lips, as if she might cave into my implied request. My hands rest on her hips, gripping them gently. I tug her back into me, so she can feel my arousal—which makes her whimper.
Before I can press into her again, she pushes me away, her gaze landing hard on mine. “Dinner’s ready!”