4. Dylan
”Okay, Iron Man,” I tease. ”How about you hit the ball over the net and focus? Otherwise, it”s not funny for anyone except for you.”
Lara swirls the tennis racket in her hand, a hip cocked to the side. ”I was aiming for your head.”
”Fair enough.” I chuckle and get into position on the court, craning my torso forward, ready to hit the ball when Lara serves.
It”s another glorious day on her parents” ranch with a near-perfect, cloudless sky filled with warmth and possibilities. A week after Amanda”s birthday party, I”m in the backyard, forced to play tennis with Lara like it”s some hardship, but she didn”t have a partner, and her mother insisted on her practicing. Lara tosses the ball and whacks it with eerie accuracy, sending it whizzing toward my head again. I retaliate with a swift thwack, and it lands between her legs.
”What”s that now?” I swipe a hand across my brow. ”Love, forty?”
She growls. ”Aren”t you supposed to let a lady win?” She grabs the ball and gives it a hit that bounces off the side fence.
”If I saw a lady, then maybe I”d compromise,” I yell to her, hitting the bouncing ball in her direction to keep playing.
”Is it bad I want to stay out here?” Lara pauses only long enough to answer the question before she returns the ball to me, lighter this time and holding back.
I shake my head and do the same to keep the match going. ”It”s not a bad thing.”
I get where she”s coming from. The only reason I”m here today is that her mom wants to teach her to make macarons. Being French and all, I guess she wants to make sure someone carries on the tradition.
I race after a stray ball to ensure Lara doesn”t get the point. It might be unnecessarily competitive, but it”s taking her mind off of her mother, and it”s been working until now. The tennis match started to pass the time, but Lara is purposely dragging it on to keep us out of the kitchen now.
Which is fine by me.
I”m unsure why her mother wants me involved, but she suggested it.
”It”ll be nice to see you in an apron, though,” Lara comments and the heat in her tone makes me miss her next shot. She squeals, jumping up and down. ”Point to me!”
I grumble and readjust. ”Keep dreaming about that apron.”
”Mother isn”t going to let you in the kitchen without one. You know how she likes to keep things tidy.” Lara flashes a grin. ”Come on, Dylan. Don”t you know there are proper protocols for making macarons?”
”They don”t involve me in an apron,” I argue.
But at least she”s smiling, and it means a lot. Like the teasing will help her deal with whatever awaits us in the kitchen.
”Or you want to see me in nothing but the apron?
Lara misses the ball this time, and I narrowly resist throwing a fist into the air.
”You wish.”
I serve the ball, causing her to jump to reach it and giving me a good view of those long tan legs. Her shorts ride higher with each movement.
”Excellent serve,” she mutters.
”I aim to please.”
We smile at each other, the ball thumping off into the distance. I clear my throat to think of something witty when Amanda runs to the tennis court. Her arms are out to the sides, and her hair is a wild mess.
”Come on, come on!” she shouts. ”It”s time! I want cookies.”
”You always want cookies,” Lara teases as Amanda leaps on her and wraps her legs around Lara”s waist.
The two are a picture, and I mentally snap it to hold onto it—the pure joy of sisters under the bright glinting light of midday.
I look out toward the rest of the ranch, at the vast expanses of space and the mountains in the distance. My palms itch, and I clench the racket. I”d trade cooking for a horse right now. Better still if Lara rode next to me.
”Come on, Dylan.”
It takes a minute to realize Amanda is speaking to me. ”You think you can make better cookies than me?” I point the racket at her until she giggles.
Lara rolls her eyes. ”Please. Not another bet.”
”Okay. Not a bet but a challenge,” I correct. ”The best cookie is the winner.”
”What”s the challenge?” Lara holds her sister”s hand.
”To make the best cookie. I knew you didn”t listen to me.”
Lara purses her lips to keep her smile from showing but fails. ”You”re going to regret your challenge, Dylan.”
”What”re you going to do about it?” I taunt, holding my racket out in front of me. It might be the only protection I get if she slam dunks that little green ball at my nether regions instead of my head.
However, Lara has Amanda cuddled close, removing her threat. She lets the ball drop and falls into step beside me. ”Someone thinks he”s going to make a better cookie than we are,” she says in a conspirator”s whisper to her sister. ”Can you believe it?”
Amanda giggles and shakes her head.
The three of us make our way across the patio toward the sound of singing in the kitchen. The lyrics from the song on the radio are in French, but Camille taps her bare feet along to the melody, singing perfectly. Her hair is pulled away from her face, and she”s already got her apron looped around her midsection.
”All of you, in here.” She beckons us forward. ”I”ve got everything to begin mixing. It”s quite the process to make macarons, you know.” She has everything we need lined up on the island like soldiers. ”Dylan, how about you sift the almond flour and put the sugar in a bowl? The texture needs to be perfect.”
Camille ruffles Amanda”s hair, and although Lara is wary, she waits for instructions. Her sister whirls the egg whites into an electric mixer until they foam while Lara stirs the buttercream at the stove.
”You have talent,” Camille praises when she sets me up beside Lara to ensure the sugar doesn”t burn. ”You”re the sugar king, Dylan.”
Lara casts me some serious side-eye. ”Who would”ve thought?”
Those words sift along my skin like silk, and I can”t help but smile, reaching out to touch the small of her back in acknowledgment. ”I guess it”s not so bad,” I reply.
”Not so bad? I”ll have you here every time I make macarons.” Camille chuckles, moving between us to ensure we follow her steps to the letter. ”Amanda, you”re doing a lovely job, cherie. Keep up the good work.”
”Uh-oh.” Lara leans in close to whisper in my ear. ”Better be careful. She”s going to start putting you through the wringer.”
”I”d much rather you do it,” I whisper back.
”What? Put you through the wringer?” Lara”s laugh is a balm to my ears. She”s close enough for me to catch the floral perfume on her skin. ”You”re a glutton for punishment.”
Something about how she shifts closer, places her hand over mine on the wooden spoon, and takes charge of the stirring makes me wonder what else she can do with those competent hands.
”You”re stirring too hard,” she says.
”I”m distracted.”
It”s not my imagination. Lara presses the roundness of her butt against my hip while her mom and Amanda are busy with the mixer.
”I hope I”m not distracting you too hard?” she replies.
I grunt, barely able to keep from moving to let her know something else might be hard without too much encouragement. This isn”t the time or the place, but my body doesn”t care.
A slight cough from the doorway draws our attention, and wouldn”t you know it, Parker stands there carefully, erasing the smirk from his face. ”Isn”t this a picture?”
”Hey! What”re you doing here?” Lara doesn”t immediately step away from me, and I”m close enough to see her eyes narrow. She”s still pissed at him.
And I can”t decide whether I”m frustrated or guilty to see him, especially when my gaze drops to the bouquet in his hand.
”What a surprise.” Camille wipes her hands on her apron and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. ”Have you come to learn to make macarons?”
He shakes his head, looking boyish and repentant. I”ve never wanted to smack his face more.
”If those are supposed to impress me, then you might want to turn around and think again.” Lara slowly peels her hand off of mine on the spoon and steps in the opposite direction. I feel her absence, like the loss of a limb.
Camille hisses, her teeth clenched. ”Lara, be kind! He came all this way.” She leaves Amanda by the mixer and accepts the flowers as if they were for her, not her daughter. ”Let me put these in some water.”
The timer dings to announce that the interior is ready for the cookies, but nobody moves except for Camille, who excitedly flounces around the kitchen.
”May I speak to you?” Parker gestures behind him. ”In private?”
”I”m busy.” Lara slaps my hand to get me moving again. ”Don”t let the sugar burn.”
Parker refuses to look at me, making me inclined to stare him down. He senses my attention. I know it from how he straightens and punches his chest like he has something to prove.
I grip the spoon tight enough to break it in two.
”I”d hoped the flowers would cheer you up,” Parker says tightly.
Lara scoffs. ”You mean you wanted to impress me?”
Parker”s dumb face is scrunched up in a frown. ”I”ve missed you.”
”As you can see, I”m swamped.” Lara deliberately moves to the mixer with the egg yolks.
”You”re not returning my calls,” Parker gripes.
”And for good reason. I”m not ready to talk to you.”
”Please, baby.” Parker moves between Lara and me. He”s a human wall. ”I”m sorry for what happened last week. I didn”t mean any of it.”
”I think you did.”
My stomach plummets even though this is none of my business. What Lara says and does with her boyfriend is none of my business. But why does it feel like this?
I grab the pan from the stovetop once the sugar reaches the correct temperature and bring it to the mixer to add to the egg yolks.
Lara is distracted and says nothing when Parker reaches across the counter to grab her hand and bring it to his lips. ”I”m sorry,” he repeats. ”Are you going to talk to me?”
”I”m talking to you now,” Lara quips.
He moves closer, and his eyes fill with heat. ”That”s not the kind of talking I want to do.”
Lara hems and haws. She”s adorable and is guaranteed her way.
”Come on, baby, don”t make me suffer. What do I have to do to make it up to you? Can you give me a little kiss?” Parker pouts.
It”s time to go.
When Parker bends, and their lips meet, Lara caving for him, it”s time to get out of this suddenly hot and stifling kitchen. The collar of my T-shirt shifts up against my neck and chokes me. Whatever excuse I give—and I”m not sure I use actual legible words or just a series of grunts—has to suffice, and in the next second, I”m on my way out of the kitchen and into the dining room. From there, I go through the dining room to the parlor, which doubles as a library, then into the living room to get as far away from the couple about to make out as possible.
Somewhere I can breathe.
Somewhere I can gather my thoughts and think about how I want to proceed when I wish to punch Parker in the face.
Camille made herself scarce for a different reason. To give the lovebirds some alone time.
Dark thoughts gather strength inside me because I know she”d rather see Parker with her daughter than someone like me. I”m not the kind of person who can be Lara”s partner.
I”m practically an orphan—a ranch hand. The only reason I”m here today is to…
I don”t know why I”m here today.
I allowed myself to get so wrapped up in spending time with Lara that I never stopped to wonder why Camille invited me to their house for a baking lesson.
”Hey.”
I whirl around and find Amanda in the doorway, staring at me.
”You left quickly,” she says with an adorable pout.
The look on her face melts away many of those thoughts and leaves me feeling like half an asshole instead of a whole one. ”I”m sorry, kid.” I muster up a grin for her benefit. ”I needed a little fresh air. Getting a little crowded back there.”
”Parker?” Amanda asks. ”Yeah. He always picks the worst times to come, doesn”t he? Just when we”re having fun.”
I slide my hands into the pockets of my shorts, and the material catches on some of the sugar I hadn”t wiped clean. ”He just wants Lara to be happy,” I tell her.
No matter what I think, I have to believe that Parker is doing what”s best for Lara because he cares about her. Otherwise, I”ll drive myself mad by picking apart every tiny flaw of his until I unravel.
”Yeah. But Parker isn”t you.” Amanda surprises me by launching at me and wrapping her arms around my hips. ”He”s not you, Dylan.”
Well, shit. I don”t know how to handle this.
Despite the shifting in my abdomen, I force myself to laugh and adopt an easy expression. ”Amanda…”
She holds up a hand to stop me, and the image is so much like her mother, so in control, I have to take a beat. ”You guys belong together.” She winks at me before skipping off out of the room and leaving me behind, gawking.
How in the world am I going to control myself now?
An eight-year-old sees everything I”ve wanted to hide and more. She sees how good Lara and I would be together. If only?—
I shake my head to dispel my chaotic emotions from the forefront of my mind. There”s no sense in leaning into the conflicting mess in my head. There”s no reason for any of it. I”ve spent way too long in this house.
Without saying my goodbyes and without doing anything to act on my desire for Lara, I step outside to clear my head. Amanda”s words will stick in my head, and I know myself. I”ll make them mean more than they do. She”s a child, though. What does she know?
But I hope she”s right.
I like how repeating those words feels and imagining they hold a world of meaning: you belong together. She”s validating how I feel. My stomach takes a nosedive, and the plummeting sensation makes my head spin. Whatever happens between us, right now, Lara has a boyfriend. This means I”ve got to get a handle on this and rely on every bit of self-control I”ve honed over my lifetime.
Because otherwise, I”ll mess this up, and once I do, there”s no going back.