He jerks his head back. “What on earth are you tryin’ to shove in my face?”
“Toffee drizzled croissants with a tiny crumbling of crushed walnuts for texture. I whipped them up this morning and they aredelicious.”
“Hmm,” he grunts, plucking the food from between my fingers, then popping the morsel into his mouth and chewing. “Not bad. Is this what you do when you’re not tryin’ to kill yourself renovatin’ an old house?”
“Bake? Oh, no.” I shake my head before I think on it and start nodding instead. “Well, yes. But that’s not all. I wouldn’t call myself a baker as much as I’d call myself a creator. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I have what many would call a sunny disposition. And since every successful business thrives on branding, I decided to incorporate that into my personal brand.”
“You’ve lost me.”
“Sunflowers! I create works of art featuring sunflowers.”
“And people buy that?”
“Oh, yes. I sell prints and stationery featuring my work, plus I have a whole community online who supports me too. They’re actually all avidly watching as I rebuild this place and turn it into Sunflower Cottage. The whole exterior will be a cheery yellow, and I’ll paint from the porch where I’ll be able to see the rows of sunflowers I’ll plant along there”—I gesture to the side of the cabin where I’ve already marked out my plot—“and whenever someone orders one of my custom creations from me, they’ll get a little packet of seeds so they can grow sunflowers of their own.”
“Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out,” he rumbles with a frown, his deep tone rumbling through my being and taking me away from my thoughts for a moment.
“What?”
“Sunflower Cottage. Sounds like you have everything figured out.” His frown deepens as he crosses his arms across his chest, his muscles rippling underneath his shirt.Oh, god I want to see everything that’s underneath all that clothing.
“Oh! Oh yes. I do! Would you like to see my plans? I drew them all up so I could visualize the concept. I have them in my van.” Without waiting to find out if he really did want to see my plans, I rush back to my camper and snatch a few sheets off my vision board, leaping back out of the door and practically running back to his side.
“You’ve got a lot of energy, huh?” Dylan says as he takes the drawings from my outstretched hand and scrutinizes it with his brow still drawn tight. I don’t know if it’s my designs that have him looking crabbier by the minute or if it’s just me. But either way, it has me feeling restless and a little silly.
“I’m not hyper,” I return, hating the term but knowing a lot of people think of it when looking for a way to describe me. “I’m just a happy person.”
“Well, figure out how to bottle that, and I’m sure you’ll be rollin’ in it,” he says, handing the designs back to me without comment.
“Happiness isn’t for sale, Dylan,” I say as I roll the drawings into a paper cylinder between my hands. “It isn’t even a destination. It’s a choice to be at peace with all the tiny little idiosyncrasies that make us whole. And you can’t bottle a choice.”
His green eyes hold mine for a moment before he grunts, then turns back toward his truck. “We should get to work.”
I stand still for a solid ten seconds, watching that sexy grump of a neighbor of mine walk away from me in a set ofverywell-fitting jeans.Oh la la!I have a vision of painting the image of a man looking just like that, but walking with a sunflower held behind his back. I’m already plotting sketches and color choices in my mind when Dylan stops and looks back at me.
“You comin’?”
“Oh! Yes. Of course!” I say, shoving the rolled up plans into my back pocket then rushing to the truck to join him. “Sorry.”
He gives me a withering look, then pulls the canvas cover off his tailgate and throws it back. A brand new, ten-pound chainsaw is sitting next to the original chainsaw I bought, along with a bunch of well-worn tools that I’m assuming belong to Dylan.
“Marvin sends his apologies,” he starts, unhooking the tailgate to get better access to his tools. “He realized his error in overcharging you and selling you the wrong sized chainsaw. But since it was already used, he kindly said you could keep it, but he’d give you the right sized one free of charge. He’s also applied some money to a tab in your name that matches the amount he overcharged you yesterday. So when you go in the store next, you just give them your name and mention you’re a friend of the Valentines, and they’ll more than help you.”
“Valentine? That’s your surname? Like the bar on the road out of here.”
“Yes, ma’am. Our family’s been in Whisper Valley a few generations now.”
“Wow. Well, I look forward to meeting them. Are they anything like you?”
“Oh, I don’t think there are many people like me. But I suppose they’re enough alike that you’ll see a family resemblance.”
“I’ll let you know what I think,” I say with a smile, reaching out and hefting the new,smallerchainsaw into my hands. Compared to the one I was using yesterday, I feel like I could reenact a battle scene in Star Wars with this as my light saber. It’s so easy to maneuver!
“Whoa! Whoa!” he responds, placing his hand on the front of saw before I get carried away. “I don’t want you startin’ that thing right here. I’m gonna show you how to use it properly this time, so I don’t have to worry about you cuttin’ off a limb when I’m not watchin’.”
“All I’m hearing is that you worry about me, Dylan,” I tease. “Who’d have thought I’d wriggle my way under your skin in such a short amount of time?”
Rolling his eyes, he grunts and moves toward the bushes I was cutting back yesterday when he interrupted—well,saved—me. "I was chopping wood, by the way.”
