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DAHLIA
“Be safe, little sis,” Harry whispers as he hugs me tight, squeezing the damn life out of me.
I groan, trying to shove him away but at twice my age and twice my weight, the dude’s immovable.
“I’ll befine,” I say for the hundredth time as my brother finally releases me and steps back. Mom and Dad already said goodbye before they went to work, but Harry insisted on driving me to the airport. He was seventeen when I was born—ahappy surpriseas Mom calls me—as a result of our Dad marrying Mom. Harry had taken to the role ofsuper protective overbearing big brotherimmediately, so the fact he’s been freaking out ever since I decided to move comes as no surprise.
“It’s not too late to back out, you know,” he reminds me, looking at me pleadingly.
“Yes, it is,” I argue. “The money’s already been transferred, and the deed is in my name. I’m not backing out, Harry.”
“Fine,” he says snappily, crossing his arms over his chest.
“I have to go or I’ll miss my flight.” I let him squish me in another hug before I turn away and go to find my gate.
I won’t give my brother the satisfaction of knowing, but I am absolutely terrified. I’m not the kind of girl who takes risks, who dares step a foot outside her carefully constructed comfort zone. I’m definitely not the kind of girl who spends her entire bank account on an abandoned cottage in a country she’s never been to, halfway across the world from everyone she knows.
Except…I guess I am that girl now.
With my bags checked in, I grab a few snacks for the long plane journey and find my gate. Harry’s nagging means I’m one of the last to join the boarding line, but that’s just fine by me because the less time I have to stand around thinking about this, the better.
I find my seat, hoping and praying that nobody will sit next to me. I pick a window seat in the hopes I can sleep at least some of the eight-hour flight, and though somebody takes the aisle seat, there’s no one in the middle by the time the plane’s pulling away and the air hostesses are starting their safety demonstrations.
I try to pay attention, but my mind is reeling. I’m doing this. I’m really doing this.
Nerves bubble up inside me as we start to take off, and I pull out my phone and tap on my photo gallery. The photos from the listing stare back at me, soothing my nerves a little. I swipe, and the nerves return, this time buoyed by the pounding of my heart and a rush of adrenaline that has nothing to do with the plane’s sudden ascent.
Is it weird that I’ve saved his posts to my phone? Probably. But moving across the world because of those posts? That’s even weirder. I groan internally at myself, but the man in the photo holds my eyes.
Dylan Dixon.
With his chin-length wavy brown hair, pale blue eyes, short, slightly scruffy beard, and flannel, he looks like he belongs in the woods with an ax. But damn that wildness makes me feel hot all over. Not to mention the fact he’s so muscular I can see the outline of his pecs and biceps through his clothes.
I haven’t seen him in ten years, but that childhood crush I’d once had is now back in full force. It’s not like I have a chance with him, though. For a million reasons, not the least of which is the fact he’s my brother’s best friend. And nearly twenty years older than me.
You’re so screwed, my heart tells me with every frantic beat.
I try to ignore it, turning my attention to the rest of the photo. The rolling hills in the background, lush green grass, and a sprinkling of purple flowers. I’m only a little ashamed of the fact I stalked Dylan’s profile to figure out where he was now.
Scotland. Rural Scotland. In the heart of all that greenery, all that untamed wildness.
And I want to be there, too.
Before I knew it, I was knee-deep in research, ten tabs open with listings of houses for sale in a country I’d never been to but that had captured my heart from just that photo alone. Sure, at first I wanted to go for Dylan, which I know is ridiculous and a little stalker-ish, but it’s not like anyone would ever know. But the more I looked, the more I fell in love with the place.
And then I found my house. A run-down, abandoned cottage that hadn’t been lived in in nearly fifteen years. It was nestled in a generous amount of land, full of overgrown weeds and thistles, and because it was in desperate need of love, the price was low. Low enough that it would have been silly not to jump at the chance. Low enough that within two days of seeing the listing, I was figuring out how to transfer all my savings for the deposit.
Telling my family had been tricky. They all thought I’d lost the plot, and honestly, I can’t blame them. I’m shy and quiet and careful and this was so unlike me. But…I felt stuck, living at home in the same town I’d always lived in with no idea what I wanted to do with my life. I turned twenty-one last month, and the idea of college has never appealed to me, but I felt like I had no options.
This is my leap of faith. I’m going to fix up this house, even though I have no idea how to do that. Then again, the best way to learn something is to do it, right? This is a new start, a chance to figure out what I want and…to figure out who I am.
Oh, and reunite with Dylan. Harry promised me in the car that he’d call his old friend before I landed. Turns out, Dylan is a contractor. And apparently, I need one of those if I want to renovate an old house.
I can only hope Harry convinces Dylan to help me. If not, I might do something stupid like track him down and beg him in person. May as well keep the streak of bad decisions going, right?
I laugh, earning me a weird look from the person in the aisle seat next to me. Maybe this is the new me—impulsive, excitable, spontaneous. Free. I grin, liking the sound of that, and settle in for the flight.
