The words leave his lips like a husky caress—like he means them with every fiber of his being—and I trip over my own foot and nearly ass-plant onto the pavement.
“Shit, are you okay?” Dylan steps forward to steady me, but I’m upright again. Upright and beet-red from head to toe. “I’ve gotta go, gorgeous, but I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says into the phone, and my sluggish morning brain connects the dots. He toldwhoever was on the other end of the linethat he loves them. I don’t know why it surprises me that he has a girlfriend. Why wouldn’t he? He’s stupidly handsome and has to be around thirty by now; maybe he’s even married, and Hayley just hasn’t mentioned it.
“That was Ella,” he explains, sliding his phone into his back pocket. “Her mom cut up her banana this morning when she wanted it whole, so she needed some emotional support. Why on earth would anyone take a knife to a banana?”
Ella,his four-year-old niece—that’s who he was talking to.
“It’s an offense of the highest order,” I reply with a chuckle, pushing my key into the lock. “Did you need something at the store?” A little thrill washes through me that this guy came here to buy stuff when his family owns the biggest superstore in the county.That’s why it’s called a convenience store, naysayers. Because it’sconvenient.
“Nah, I’m waiting for a locksmith.” He jerks his chin at the old ice cream store next door. It still hurts to look at the space we were so close to acquiring and expanding into. The King family snapped it up along with the old Harringtons restaurant beside it. “None of the keys my sister gave me fit the lock,” Dylan continues. “Typical Mom and Dad. Bought the place on a whim, tossed the key somewhere, probably never set foot inside. God knows how many fucking roaches are crawling around in there.”
What on earth does he plan to do with the store space? It better be something special because that place was my dream. I’d sooner see it stay empty than end up something inconsequential like a storeroom for his rich-boy toys.
He angles his neck toward the road, probably hunting for the locksmith. Around here, that can only be Jerry Saeed, who makes a sloth look supersonic.
“Do you want to come inside and wait there?” I mumble, silently begging Dylan to decline. I’ve only had one coffee, which means my brain is semi-liquid, and I’m sure this guy already thinks I’m a childish dope.
“Why not, Little Jade?” he says like he heard my thoughts and wants to rub them in. His confident smirk burns a hole into my back as he follows me into the store.
“Early morning yoga session?” he guesses, leaning his elbows against the counter as I slide my mat beneath it.
“What gave it away?” I retort, flicking on all the lights. “Surely not the yoga mat?”
His eyes begin a slow, unapologetic trail across my sports bra and down my leggings. “It was more the outfit.” His gaze flicks back to mine. “Sweaty looks good on you.”
I glance away with overheated cheeks, wanting those words to come off as sleazy and gross, but for some reason, they don’t. They make me want to stand right here in the firing line of Dylan’s electric gaze instead of doing what I should—giving the store a quick clean, opening the cash register, and tidying up the shelves.
“You want some coffee?” I ask before remembering the coffee maker crapped itself a few days ago.
“Hell yes. Thank you.”
“I only have instant.”
He doesn’t try to hide his grimace. “Just when I thought this week couldn’t get any more depressing. But if that’s all you’ve got, I’m game.”
Did he just… Did he just compare his parents’ passing away to instant coffee?
I don’t know why I find that so refreshing, but it loosens my lungs a little.Stop being awkward. He’s your best friend’s brother. Make the man a coffee.
After offering Dylan a stool, I head into the kitchenette to fix two cups. We sit across from each other at the counter and try not to gag at the watery taste while the weekend dust gathers another layer at our feet.
“Thanks again for coming to the funeral,” Dylan says, looking right at me.
“Of course.”
Silence builds between us. Normally, the quiet doesn’t bother me, but for some reason, this feels really awkward, and I have the overwhelming urge to fill it. “That was a beautiful eulogy you gave.”
He glances down. “Thanks.”
“That part about your mom and dad always being together was really special.”
He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth. “Not something I can relate to, but that was them to a T. Where Mom went, Dad followed. And vice-versa.”
He blinks at me over the rim of his cup. “Hayley told me you lost your mom a few years ago.”
A blade presses between my ribs. “Yeah. She had cancer.”
His compassionate eyes lock on mine, and a moment of understanding shifts between us. When someone you desperately love dies, everything reminds you of them, of the unfathomable prospect of life without that person. Even now, everywhere I turn in the store, I still see Mom cheerfully punching buttons on the cash register or loading fresh stock onto the shelves. Her loss has left a gaping, bottomless hole that will never be filled.
