Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

DYLAN

Alex is so brave. As we talked over dinner, I learned that he up and quit his secure corporate job to branch out on his own. He uprooted his life, moved out here, and is starting over without really knowing anyone here. Just like that.

I’ve lived in this same small town my entire life—with the exception of the nine months I was in college before dropping out. I’ve known all the same people and gone to all the same places every day of my small life. I can’t imagine starting over in a place far away from everything I’ve ever known. That takes guts.

I follow behind Alex over to his new home, a quaint cottage-style house set back off the main road a ways with a gravel driveway. It’s a cute place, likely deceptively large inside, as most of the older houses here seem to be.

As I step out of my truck, he shuts the door to his car and points toward the house.

“This is it,” he says. “This is home.”

For the last few years, I gave up the duplex I’d been living in and moved into my dad’s house. Once his health started to decline, it just made sense. It’s the same house I grew up in. And though I’ve always loved that house, there’s something about being an adult and living in the same room you had as a teenager. It doesn’t exactly scream bachelorette pad. Nor would I ever consider taking someone back there for the night. What was I supposed to do? Sneak him into my bedroom window? No, thanks. So I didn’t.

The point is, Dad’s house doesn’t feel like my house. It still feels like his. And it probably always will. I don’t think I can or want to live there permanently. I want a place that’s mine. I want to feel the same way Alex does when he beams with pride about his.

“It’s so pretty,” I say, taking note of the wraparound porch and the swing to the left of the front door. The outside could certainly use a fresh coat of paint, and I notice a loose shutter on one of the windows.

“Come on in,” he says, climbing the front steps.

Entering into the foyer, it’s hard to ignore the natural light filtering in. It makes the house feel cozy and light.

“Let me give you the grand tour,” he says, stepping into the living room.

We walk through each room of the downstairs as I make notes on a pad of paper about what he points out to me. And I point out a few things he hadn’t noticed as well. Through the kitchen, dining room, and ground floor bedroom he plans to make into his office, everything seems pretty minor. There’s also a half bath that seems to be in pretty good shape. There are a few loose floorboards, some baseboards that need replacing, a leaky faucet, and half a dozen other little things to fix.

He also points out some updates he wants, like new knobs on all the kitchen cabinets and replacing stained light switch covers. They’re not broken, but for the sake of making the place shine and feel like home, I agree they need to be done.

We head upstairs, where there are three more bedrooms, including the master, and another full bathroom. Most older houses like this only have one bathroom, but he mentioned his uncle had the half bath put in decades ago because he was “tired of climbing the stairs to take a piss”—a direct quote apparently.

“And this is my room,” he says, opening the door to the master. “It’s the room I’ve done the most unpacking in.”

I step inside, oddly nervous and very aware it’s his bedroom. It’s been a really long time since I was in a man’s bedroom for any reason.

There’s a king-sized bed against the wall opposite the door, with a nightstand on either side. One of them is empty, while the other has a glass of water and a couple of books on it, so I conclude that one must be his. There are fresh-looking light-gray linens covering it and a few pieces of artwork leaning against the walls. A dresser is against the wall to my right, and a bookshelf is in the far corner, half-filled, with more books sitting on the floor in front of it.

“I don’t see anything in here that needs repaired?” I say, wondering if I’ve missed something.

“Oh, um, I haven’t noticed anything in here,” he says. “I just…” He pauses. “I thought you should see the whole place.” He clears his throat behind me, a palpable tension becoming more apparent with each passing moment. I wonder if he feels it too.

Probably not. He’s far too pretty to be into the likes of me. I haven’t put on any makeup or done more than brush my hair since Dad died. Even this morning, my face was still puffy from all the crying.

“Oh.” It’s really all I can manage as I hear his feet shuffle toward me, very aware of his proximity behind me. “Well, I think I’ve got all the notes I need.” I change the subject rather quickly, not turning toward him.

“Good,” he says. “And I can come by the store tomorrow, if you want, and look at the data on your computer. Might be easier than making you a list.”

“Okay,” I say. “Sounds good.”

His feet haven’t shifted at all, so taking a chance, I turn toward him.

There are maybe six inches between us. For the record, that’s not a lot of space when you’re talking about proximity to a very tall, very attractive man.

He turns sideways, inviting me to exit the room ahead of him. I nod, shuffling my feet in the direction of the stairs.

I only stop once I’m at the front door, turning to say my goodbyes.

“Wait, um,” he says, hesitating for a moment. “Do you want to stay a while? I thought maybe we could talk? I have some iced tea? Wine? We could sit on the front porch?”

Is he… is he flirting with me? No way. I must be imagining things. “Oh, I don’t want to do that,” I blurt out. God, no, that’s wrong. “I mean, I can’t do that.” Wait. “I mean, I could, but I don’t think I should.”

“Oh. Okay,” he says, sounding a little dejected. But that’s probably only because I stumbled on my words and sounded like an idiot.

I scrawl my cell phone number onto the corner of my notepad before ripping it away. “Okay, well, here’s my number in case you think of anything else that needs to be repaired, and you can just let me know when you’ll be over tomorrow and I’ll have stuff ready for you.”

He grips the paper from me, flipping it around to look at it.

“Yeah, I’ll do that,” he says as I slip out the front door.

Boy, that boy sure unnerves me. I know I just met him, but I can’t deny that I’m attracted to him. That’s why I had to get out of there. I know I would have said something incredibly stupid if I had stayed and had a glass of wine on the porch. I’m sure he’s just trying to be nice, given what I told him about Dad and the store, so I don’t want to embarrass myself by hitting on him. And honestly, I think he’s the kind of guy I’m just going to end up hitting on if I’m around him for too long.

Once I’m behind the wheel, I look up to find him waving from the front door. I wave back, probably a little too enthusiastically. God, I need to get laid. I think after no sex in over two years, my virginity has probably grown back by now. I wonder if sex here in the future is different than it was back in my twenties.

There’s no way I can let myself fall for him. I would never recover from being rejected by a man that beautiful. That’s a soul crusher right there.