Dylan swallows hard. “I’m sorry. I guess, as that movie goes, life is like a box of chocolates. The best ones always go quickly.”
Hold up. I’m pretty sure the line doesn’t go like that.
A slow breath passes through his lips. “There’s a whole new level of feeling like shit that I never knew existed.”
I silently nod, sensing my mind being pulled toward the image of my mother’s soft, smiling eyes before I wrench it away. And then I lurch to my feet because if I don’t physically move, my eyes might split open.
“Sorry, I’ve gotta do some cleaning before the customers start coming in,” I say, reaching for the broom that’s leaning against a stack of delivery boxes.
Dylan gets up quickly and runs his palms down his jeans. “’Course. Thanks for the shithouse coffee.”
I blurt a laugh. “Anytime.”
The second I say the word, I want to shove it back into my throat. I can’t be hanging out with Hayley’s older brother. For one, he lives in Austin. The last thing I need is to get attached to someone who’s only here for a little while. And despite the flirtatious comments, Dylan King is hardly interested in me.
Plus, there’s a reason Hayley rarely comes into this place. Despite our friendship, our family stores are in direct competition, even if mine is David and hers is Goliath. How do I know Dylan’s not in here to cozy up to the enemy and conduct secret price checks so that he can undercut us? He’s evidently already doing something with the empty store space next door.
“So, what are your plans for next door?” I probe as he scoops up his duffel bag.
“There’s an apartment above the old ice cream shop. I’m gonna crash there for a bit. Me and my roach buddies.”
My lips fall open. He’s going to bestayingthere? For how long? Not that it matters. I just don’t need the distraction.
“Something wrong with the house over at the springs?” I ask in a breath.
He looks away and then back at me. “Memories,” is all he says.
An orange and red tattoo on his forearm of a burning leaf catches the hazy stream of morning light as he turns for the door.
“Take care of yourself, Jade,” he says like he isn’t about to basically become my next-door neighbor.
But maybe this is as much as one girl ever gets out of Dylan King. One impotent coffee, one brief conversation, one fleeting moment of his full attention.
One and done.
My phone lights up with a message alert, and Dylan’s still close enough to spot the words on the screen:Nate the Nark.The nickname will mean nothing to him, but there’s only one Nate in this town.
Most people would pretend they didn’t notice a message on someone else’s phone out of politeness, but Dylan makes no effort to hide his smirk.
“Jade and Nate, sitting in a tree…” he starts.
My face drops down, a frown forming on my brow.
When I brave a look back up, his clear-blue eyes are staring straight at mine. “Make sure he brings the handcuffs,” he adds with a quick wink. Before I can reply, he strolls out through the front door and leans back against the wall outside.
Another brazen, inappropriate comment.
So why do my cheeks keep pulling up like they want to smile? Damn cheeks. Traitors, the both of them.
I’ve still got the wordshandcuffsandDylan Kingwrapped around each other in my head when Mrs. Horne pushes through the door with her Pomeranian wriggling under one arm.Here we go.
“Good morning, Jade,” she says, coral-pink lipstick smeared unevenly over her crinkly lips. “I was on my morning walk with Minnie when I thought I should pop in to tell you the good news. I was able to get the pendulum fixed on that old cherry wood clock I was telling you about last week—”
I feel guilty, but I really don’t have time for this today.
My gaze catches on Dylan outside, and an idea pops into my mind.
“That sounds fascinating, Mrs. Horne, but do you know what? There was a guy just in here who’s really into antique clocks. I think he wants to start his own grandfather clock collection and could use some good advice.”
