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DAHLIA
My skin prickles as sparks fly through me, my heart rocketing in my chest so hard I feel breathless. It’s as though his very presence has swallowed up all the available air in this house because the swirling mess of incoherent thoughts in my brain has to be a result of oxygen deprivation.
Dylan is… Yeah, there’s no words.Hotdoesn’t even come close.Beautifulseems toonice. Mind-bogglingly, drool-worthy, panty-meltingly captivating. I think I must be hallucinating because there’s no way on earth a man like this actually exists, but no matter how many times I blink, he’s still there. In my doorway. Looking at me like I’ve gone mad.
He might be right.
“You…uh…you look…different,” I bumble out, wanting to kick myself immediately.
He raises a dark brow, lips turning down at the sides. “Ten years changes a lot,” he says gruffly.
No shit. Ten years ago, I was in middle school. Ten years ago, Dylan was twenty-seven, older than I am now. I swallow thickly. Dylan. Harry’s best friend. Here to help me with the house because, no doubt, my older brother begged him to.
Not here for me to jump on. No matter how tempting it is.
The pulse between my legs very much disagrees with my logic.
I laugh, trying to act normal and pretend like my body isn’t completely betraying me. “Yeah, if I told eleven-year-old me what I was doing now, I think she’d faint. I fiddle with the hem of my t-shirt just for something to do with my hands so I don’t do something stupid like reach for him instead.
He doesn’t laugh with me, or even crack a smile beneath that beard of his. I shuffle on my feet under his assessing stare, struggling to pinpoint the expression in his icy blue eyes. I feel oddly exposed as he looks at me, but I can’t decide if it makes me want to run and hide or strip down so he can look some more.
I can only stand a few seconds under the gravity of his focus. He doesn’t reply, only stands silently in my doorway. I clear my throat, turning away in a feat of sheer strength.
“Right, well…um…this is the house!” I move away, refusing to look back at him and get stuck in the depths of his eyes again. “I’m sure Harry told you about it but it’s definitely a project. I think it’ll look so good when it’s done, though—”
“Ifit gets done,” Dylan grumbles, and I stutter, not knowing how to answer that.
“Well, I only just got here so my first step is making a note of everything that needs to be done in each room like here.” I lead us into the living space and sweep my hand at the wall separating it from the kitchen. “I want to knock that down to open this space up—”
“Is the wall load-bearing?” Dylan interrupts with his question. I make the mistake of glancing over my shoulder at him, finding his face in an expression I can’t understand as he stares at the wall I was speaking about.
“Uh…what?” I stutter out.
Dylan’s stare turns on me and I shiver, taking a step away to try to hide it. God, I’m making a fool of myself here.
“Load-bearing,” Dylan repeats slowly, raising one brow at me. I swallow thickly, shaking my head. “Do you not know what that means?”
I’m a little taken aback by how fast he’s jumped straight into this while I’m still remembering how to form words, and heat rises to my cheeks with embarrassment. Because his question feels as though he’s looking straight through me. I don’t know anything about this stuff. But that’s what he’s for, isn’t it?
“I’ll learn,” I answer, putting all my determination behind the words.
“This place is a mess, Dahlia.”
He says my name with a softness that surprises me. There’s no malice or judgment in his tone, just a sort of resigned groan. I swallow thickly. Oh, god. Does he notice the way I’m practically swooning over him? I want the floor to open up and swallow me whole.
Even still, I want to prove that I can do this. I want his respect. And there’s something in me to show him exactly how capable I am, to see a spark of approval in his eyes. I’ve left shy, scared Dahlia back home, and if I want to embrace this new, brave version of me. I can’t back down now.
“What about the wiring? Or the insulation? Or the weather damage? Have you even thought about checking for mold?”
“I only just got here,” I argue, putting my hands on my hips to hide the way they’re shaking with the need to reach for him. I raise my chin, refusing to back down from his heated stare no matter how badly I want to.
“But you’re living here?” He turns away just as I catch what I think is concern twisting his lips. I feel my heart deflate a little. Here I am, drooling over a man who clearly sees nothing except a silly little girl he has to take care of when he looks at me. I mean, he hasn’t said that but I can feel the worry radiating from this big bear of a man, and I can’t help but think it’s because he thinks I’ve made a mistake in buying this place.
“Yes.”
“Without even a structural check.”
“Well—”
