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We both laughed softly and tried to pretend we were amused about something else.
Todd stopped to talk to someone again and waved us on. I gave up on the idea that he’d be actually spending time with us.
I tried not to let my irritation show.
Todd had done his own thing all day. I also noticed that Dylan hadn’t left my side. And I didn’t miss how every time Todd got close to me or showed me some attention, Dylan got quiet, sometimes even glaring at him.
Dylan fell into step beside me, hands tucked casually in his pockets.
"Gorgeous today," he commented.
I snuck a glance in his direction to see him gazing at me.
He cleared his throat, “It’s a nice day for walking around.”
I felt my face heat up as I nodded. "Yeah, perfect day for exploring the city," I managed to reply breezily.
I admired hisbroad shouldersand the way his shirt clung to his muscular frame.
Stop ogling him. You're with Todd.
As we squeezed past the large tour group getting out of a bus, Dylan gently nudged me towards the buildings, away from the busy street. His arm brush against my back, and my body shuddered at the touch.
Before I knew it, he was walking on the street side while I was closer to the buildings, shielded from the traffic.
I glanced up at him, but he just continued chatting casually with his broad frame angled slightly towards me.
It was a simple gesture, but I appreciated how thoughtful he was without making a big show of it. I couldn't remember the last time a man had taken such care to make sure I felt safe.
He was still carrying the bag of things my grandpa bought at the drugstore after taking it from my hand when I needed to retie my shoe. I’d gone to take it back, but he’d waved me off.
He kept stepping up when Todd didn’t even seem to notice. Or care. The difference between them was painfully obvious.
Two brothers couldn’t be any more different than they were. I’d been right in my first impressions of both of them. Dylan was the storm to Todd’s sunshiny day. The steady rock to Todd’s airy, fluffy clouds.
And I felt so guilty for wanting the brother who seemed intent on quietly caring for me in all the small ways that mattered.
We approached a new art gallery my grandpa wanted to go into. After Grandpa pushed Dave into the gallery, Dylan held the door for me to walk in.
“More of that chivalry, huh?” I said. “You can’t blame it on my hands being full this time.”
“You caught me,” he said with a broad smile as I walked through the doorway and glanced back at him.
It reminded me of the last time he had held the door open for me.
Stop it.What the hell was wrong with me?
Later, when we were going through the gallery, Todd finally joined us. Dave needed to use the bathroom, so Todd and Dylan went with him in case he needed help getting out of his wheelchair.
For the first time, Grandpa and I were alone, looking at a sculpture of something . . . lumpy.
“What is that supposed to be?” he asked, squinting at the title card.
I read it out loud. “Deconstruction of Emotional Resistance.”
“What thehell?” he said softly, the pitch going up at the end. I laughed a little too loudly, but his sentiment matching mine perfectly caught me off guard.
“I have no idea, Grandpa.”
