AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chapter Twelve
Cade
Dylan is a girl who won’t let anything go.
I can see it in how she protectively holds herself.
I can see it in how she almost undermines anything—everything—she says.
And I want to know how to fix it.
Hell, maybe that’s just her, but maybe…
Maybe the right person can pull her from it.
I want to be the right person.
She thanks me again as she walks past, heading to the back patio. Her eyes lock with mine for a solid three seconds before she casts them downward again, the smallest of blushes on her face.
The entire trip here—both the flights from Vancouver to San Francisco and San Francisco to Reno, and then the short drive from the airport, here—I tried to come up with a game plan.
I’m already bombarding her space.
I couldn’t hope that she’d open up, just by me being here.
But if I have to make this a weekly trip, I have zero issues.
I mean, regardless it can still be a weekly trip; instead of coming down to try and get her to like me, it could maybe turn to coming down to spend time with a girl who wants to spend time with me.
If push comes to shove, and whatever demons Dylan holds are too much for her to bear, if my being here turned out to be a bad thing, then yeah, I’d stay in Vancouver for the rest of filming. I’m not an asshole. I won’t force something on her.
I certainly would like to be here, though.
I’m so focused on my thoughts, I don’t realize that the timer is going off. “Shoot.” Jumping off the stool, I take long strides toward the oven, sure that I burned her cookies. I turn off the timer at the same time I pull on the oven door, my face assaulted with heat and the delicious scent of fresh cookies.
My mouth is already salivating.
These things are awesome.
I’m excited to know that it’s Dylan behind the mini cookies. I’m not sure why though. Maybe it’s the knowledge that I know a small piece of her.
That she’s a master baker.
Sure, they’re “just” chocolate chip cookies but man, these things melt in your mouth.
Thankfully, I see that they’ve survived my negligence and, after turning off the oven, I bring the cookie sheet to the oversized counter.
I can’t keep them on the sheet, but what can I do with them?
I look around the room and settle on pulling a long section of paper towels from the roll, laying it flat on the counter. Three to a spatula, I remove the cookies from the tray—and I grab the fucker to hold it still, with my bare hand.
“Fuck,” I mutter, shaking my injured hand around as I get the last of the cookies from the tray; the tray shimmying and sliding across the counter top. Once every small cookie is safe from burning, I toss the spatula in the sink and finally run my hand under water. It’s from the sink that I catch sight of Dylan.
She’s sitting in one of the Adirondack chairs, her feet propped on the firepit, and while her eyes are closed, and her face is etched in enjoyment as she basks in the sun, her hands still rest protectively on her stomach.
I didn’t want to say anything before but she’s definitely more pregnant now, versus last week. Her stomach grew over the last seven days, but I’m not exactly sure what the right protocol is, in telling a woman that.
Hey, your belly got bigger.
