Chapter 6

6

D ylan’s POV

The first customer walks through the door just as we're shoveling the last bites of Theo's cottage pie into our mouths. I don’t get the chance to think about how this is the first time I've seen him in the kitchen since our parents died. Or how this is the first time he’s cared about anything other than our survival since that day nine months ago.

"Ready?" Isla grins up at me, emerald eyes sparkling.

Her eyes meet mine, and I can’t manage to speak around the boulder lodged in my throat. The best I can do is nod. She turns back toward the bar and fills a pint glass with beer before the customer even sits down.

"How are you doing today, Seamus?" She slaps down a cardboard coaster and plunks the beer in front of him.

"Just fine, Isla. Thank you for asking." He thanks her for the beer and hoists himself onto a bar stool. "I'll have the special today, please."

"You got it!" She motions me to the computer, shows me how to put the order in, and sends it back to the kitchen. I bend down a little to take the glare off the screen, mentally cataloging the steps. My cheek brushes her temple, and I swear she pushes back against me for a split second. I inhale sharply, the urge to wrap my arm around her almost unbearable. She steps away, blushing. I clear my throat and straighten my glasses. "What now?"

"Now we wait for the next person to come through the door. It stays pretty manageable until around 5:30."

"What happens after 5:30?"

"It's guns blazing until close."

"Sounds like fun."

She snorts. “You can’t lie for shit.”

I try not to stare at her as she leans over the bar to talk to Seamus. Her hair is up off her face, loose strands hanging down, brushing freckled skin. My fingers itch to bury themselves in it. Feel the heat from her scalp. I imagine the feel of her cheek against my palm. The way her gaze would dip to my lips. She looks over her shoulder at me, pulling at her bottom lip with her teeth. She laughs at something Seamus says, her eyes still on me. They widen, and she swings her head back toward Seamus and swats at his arm, her cheeks red.

"Do I need to break you two up?" I tease, stepping closer. I hold out my hand to him. "I'm Dylan. Nice to meet you."

"So you broke my girl's heart, did you, Dylan?"

"I–I did what?" I stammer, looking between him and Isla. She rolls her eyes.

"You stole this pub right out from under her."

My stomach sinks. "I assure you that was not my intention."

"Then what is your intention, lad?"

"Ignore him," Isla says, firmly pushing me to the other end of the bar. "I'm going to warn you now–there's going to be a lot of that. Almost everyone that comes here has known me since I was knee-high. They all knew I planned on making this into 'The Hebridean.'" She shrugs. "I hope you have thick skin."

"The Hebridean, huh? I like the sound of that."

"Yeah? Me, too." She sticks her tongue out at me.

"Fuck. Sorry." A couple comes through the door, saving my ass. Why can't I keep my foot out of my mouth for more than thirty minutes at a time ?

The rest of the day goes by in a complete rush. People don't stop coming in until Isla hangs a sign on the door thirty minutes before closing. I watch her laugh with the people sitting at the bar as she pours their last drinks, an easy smile on her face, like she's entirely at home here.

God. What have we done? My heart physically aches. Fucking hell. I try to breathe, but I can't manage to get enough air into my lungs. Sinking to the floor, I drop my head between my knees, focusing on breathing in through my mouth and out through my nose.

"Hey!" Isla drops down next to me, her small hand cupping my jaw, angling my head so she can look me in the face. "Are you okay?"

"I will be." I close my eyes, focusing on the warmth of her hand against my skin before she pulls away.

I hear her saying goodnight to someone, then a bolt turning. Next thing I know, she's on her knees in front of me, her fingers brushing through my hair.

"What can I do to help?"

I give her a small smile. "Nothing. Truly. I feel better now."

She studies my face, making sure I’m telling the truth. "What was that?"

"That’s what’s known as a good ol' panic attack."

"Too many people?"

I shake my head. "People don't bother me. The thought that I ripped your dream right out from under your feet does, though. I promise I'll figure out how to make this right, Isla." My voice cracks, but I hold her gaze, hoping she can see the sincerity behind my words.

"God, Dylan. I'll be fine. You better not tell Theo, but I think this was good for me. I've been in a rut for years. It's exciting not to have everything planned out for once."

"Really? You're not just saying that?" I ask, my gaze resting on the freckle on the right side of her top lip that makes me want to–

"Really, really." She stands, holding out her hands so she can help me up. Pure instinct has me pulling her down into my arms. I tug gently, giving her the chance to step back. She doesn't. She folds herself into me, her knees on the floor between my legs, arms around my neck.

"Thank you for caring," I whisper into her neck, my lips moving against her skin.

She pulls back a little so she can look at me. "Thank you for caring. It means more than you know."

"Anytime, Freckles," I whisper, getting lost in her deep emerald eyes.

"You're growing on me, Dylan Walker." She stands, and I let her help me up this time. "What about me?" she asks, tidying up behind the bar.

"What about you?" I grab a rag and start wiping down the countertop.

"Am I growing on you?" She winks, teasing, but I'm not so dumb that I can't see that her question is genuine.

"No," I say, trying to keep a straight face.

"God, you're worse than Theo." She throws a slice of lime at me, laughing.

"I liked you from the moment I met you, Isla. You didn't need to grow on me."

She freezes for a split second, then continues with her work. "You didn't need to say that." She keeps her eyes down.

"Isla." I wait until she looks at me. "I'll always be honest with you. No, I didn't need to say it. I wasn't just returning a compliment. I said it because it's the truth."

"Do you say that to all the girls?"

"Isla."

"Sorry!" She throws her hands up. "I'm not used to nice guys. I don't know how to act, and I definitely don't know how to take a compliment."

We’re going to have to work on that. "If it makes you feel any better, we haven't dated anyone in a couple of years."

She spins toward me. "We? "

Fuck. FUCK. My heart hammers in my chest. I nod, unsure what to say to get her to stop asking questions.

"You, Henry, and Theo haven't dated anyone in two years? All three of you?"

I nod dumbly.

She has the weirdest look on her face, and for a second, I'm terrified. Terrified she'll find out the truth and never look at me–us–the same way again.

"What was this last relationship like?" she asks, flipping off the lights. I follow her out the front door, waiting for her to lock up before saying anything.

"Her name was Katie. It ended badly."

She looks at me expectantly, waiting for the rest of the story.

"Short version is she tore the three of us apart. We barely talked with each other until nine months ago."

"When your parents died?"

I nod. "We won't ever let it happen again."

"She must have been something special."

"She was. In the beginning."

"Can I ask you something? It's kind of personal. Possibly offensive."

"Go for it."

Before she can ask, I hear gravel crunching behind me. "Did you losers forget about me?"

"Oh my god, Theo! I thought you left ages ago!" Isla turns toward him, her hand coming up to cover her mouth.

"Sorry, man." I hit him on the shoulder affectionately. "Need a ride?"

He eyes the Mustang. "Nah, I'll just sleep in the pub," he deadpans.

Isla rolls her eyes. "And you called us losers?"

"You haven't told her yet, have you?" I nudge Theo right in the ribs with my elbow.

"Told me what? "

"That I'm not scared of going fast; I'm just scared of your driving," Theo tells her, scowling at me over her head.

"You're such a jerk sometimes," she huffs. "Except when you make me cottage pie."

"He races. Cars. Motorcycles. Pretty much anything with an engine," I explain, spilling his secrets.

Isla turns to Theo. "Seriously? Do you work on them, too?"

Theo raises an eyebrow. "Something wrong with your car?"

"No, my motorcycle. I haven't had the time to get it looked at,” she says, catching Theo by surprise. Isla tells him about it, her hands moving a mile a minute. By the time she's finished talking, he may as well be that cartoon wolf with hearts coming out of his eyes. It’s that moment I realize that no matter how ornery he acts, he's just as smitten as me and Henry. This summer will be one hell of a ride.