Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Dylan comes down the stairs, wearing a pair of grey joggers that shouldn’t look as good on him as they do and the black Nike hoodie he lent me last weekend.
I hate that I know how it smells.
His hair is pulled back from his face in a bun. “You again,” he says as he stops on the last step, watching me, his emerald-green eyes locked on my hazel ones. This is the first time since I first came here that I’ve felt nervous coming inside to see him.
“Me again,” I respond, waiting for him to give me some sort of reaction.
“Come on up.” He motions for me to follow him. I slip off my brown Ugg boots and walk behind him, up the stairs and onto the second level. I can smell the smoke from the wood stove and a bit of garlic and dish soap. He must have just cleaned up after dinner.
“Do you want a beer?” he asks as he takes a sip from a half-full pint glass.
“No, thanks.” I take a seat on the couch, and he walks over to the matching chair and sits down, arms resting on his thighs.
“I wanted to find you,” he tells me before I can say anything. “But I don’t know where you live.” Leaning forward, he locks his green eyes with mine. “I’m sorry about Saturday.”
Oh.
This is not how I expected this to go. I was ready to ream him out and demand an explanation, and here he is, giving me an apology with no effort on my part.
“I live in Pleasant Cove,” I start with.
“That’s a nice town.” A small smile starts to appear on his face as he takes another sip of his beer. A bit of foam is left on his upper lip, and I resist the urge to stick out my tongue and lick it off. He wipes it away with the back of his hand.
“Yeah, I’ve only been there about a month now. I moved from Ontario.”
“Never been before.”
“It’s nice. Lots of lakes. Fewer hills, that’s for sure.” That earns me a laugh, a sound that erupts deep from his belly and is so nice I want to take it and lock it away in my memory.
He pauses for a minute, adjusting the strings on his sweater so they’re even.
“Look, I don’t really get close to many people.
I do better on my own.” He clears his throat and scratches at some of the scruff on his jaw.
“So the other day, when it felt like we were getting closer, my gut reaction was to pull away. I’m sorry, it wasn’t fair to you. ”
“No, it wasn’t,” I agree, still feeling some residual anger and embarrassment. The regretful look on his face softens me, though. “Thanks for apologizing.”
“Can we start over? As friends?” he asks, eyes hopeful.
“I think we can.” I feel a blush creep across my cheeks. This is not how I expected this to go. “Friends is a good place to start.”
“Good.” He takes another sip of his beer, looking smug. My heart flutters softly at him.
“Okay, so if we’re going to be friends,” I start, “I think you should give me your number. Then I can text you, and we can actually make plans to meet up instead of me showing up at random.”
“I don’t mind the random appearances,” he mutters, so low I barely catch it. “What do you mean, text?”
“Oh my god, Dylan, do you not have a cellphone? Are you one of those people?” I shake my head at him and cock an eyebrow.
He looks confused but says, “I have a phone. You saw it downstairs. Hanging on the wall.”
“I’ll take what I can get, I guess.” I go to pull my iPhone from my purse to add him as a contact but notice it’s turned off. “Ugh, the battery must have died,” I say quietly as my hand comes back out empty. “Can you write it down on a piece of paper for me?”
“Sure.” He gets up and walks toward the desk, bending over and flipping to a blank page in one of his notebooks. He grabs a pencil and writes down his number. I notice he’s left-handed. So am I.
He passes it to me, and when our hands touch, it feels like that moment during the card game all over again.
Like there’s a spark that runs from his fingers to mine, lighting me up.
I prepare myself for him to pull away, but he keeps his hand where it is, a smirk growing on his face.
Finally, I take the note and read it aloud before folding it and dropping it in my purse.
624-1432
“Thanks, friend.”
“No problem.”