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“You owe me more than that. A little heads-up would’ve been nice.”
“Heads-up about what?” The defensiveness in Mila’s tone takes me by surprise. “Don’t tell me you’re about to give one of my closest friends shit just because she uses a wheelchair. Oh my God, Dean Hastings. If you were an ass to her I’m going to —"
“Calm down, tiger,” I interrupt. “I didn’t give her shit, and I don’t care about her chair. I’m just saying it would have been nice to know ahead of time. I don’t think she could tell I was surprised, but fuck, I mean, what if I hadn’t got there fast enough? What if someone else stopped, someone not…not nice?”
I’m flustered, fumbling my words, as the raw intensity of my reaction hits me from all angles.
“Dean,” Mila starts, then pauses. “Riley knows how to protect herself. Besides, we were texting all the way until you pulled up.”
That helps settle the beast inside of me slightly.
“Still, I dunno, Mila. I just feel bad I didn’t know. I had to lift her out of her car, for fuck’s sake. She had to trust me to do that. That just feels big.”
Mila’s quiet for a second, which is pretty fucking weird for a woman who never stops talking or nosing her way into everything.
“That’s why I sent you, Dean. There’s no one else, aside from my brother, that I’d trust with Riley.”
I climb down from my truck, holding the phone to my ear. “Thanks, I guess,” I reply gruffly. The truth is, that means a lot. And makes me find the balls to ask the next question. “Have you talked to her since she left? Is she…is she okay?”
“She’s great. On her way to the ferry terminal and not in danger of missing her sailing, all thanks to you, big guy.”
I let out a sigh that Mila must hear, given her giggle.
“You know, you seem awfully concerned. Maybe you’d like to check in with her yourself?” she teases, but I tense up. Of course, Mila interprets my silence perfectly.
“Ooh! You want her number, don’t you?” She sounds way too fucking delighted in my discomfort, which apparently is obvious, even through the phone line. “It just so happens, Riley was somewhat taken by you as well, my friend. Which means I am more than happy to play matchmaker. Just remember me in your wedding vows.”
“Mila,” I groan, even though on the inside I’m pumping my fist at the thought that Riley might actually be interested.
“Do you want her number or not?”
“Yes, please,” I mumble, running my hand over my close-cropped hair.
A beep sounds in my ear, letting me know of an incoming message.
“There. Sent. Now, I have muffins to bake, and you have flirting to do. Make me proud, big guy.”
Mila hangs up before I can say anything, and I look down at my phone to see a new contact.
Riley Novak.
I wait till I’m inside my house, ignoring the fact that mentally, I’m already thinking about the low ramp I would need to install up to my front door if Riley ever comes over.
Don’t get ahead of yourself, you dumbass.
I bypass the table that’s covered in all the licensing and permitting paperwork I need to complete by the end of the week if I ever want to get my bar open. Grabbing a glass of water, I go straight out onto my back deck. It might be late September, but it’s still nice enough to sit outside.
Riley’s number is typed into a new message window before I can second-guess myself, and then I’m thumbing out a message.
DEAN: Riley, hey, it’s Dean. Mila’s friend who changed your tire earlier today
That’s fuckin’ stupid sounding. What other friend of Mila’s would be messaging her? I hit the backspace button and try again.
DEAN: Hey Riley, this is Dean – Mila’s friend. Just wanted to make sure you made it to your ferry.
Still sounds kind of redundant, but better than stating the obvious. I press send, and stare at my phone for a minute before I see the three dancing dots I’m waiting for.
RILEY: Hi, Dean. Thank you for your help earlier. And yes I made it. *happy face emoji*
