Chapter 34

34

Well, life had to get back to what it was. Dylan wasn’t blind to that. So two days after their trip ended, she dutifully put on her Talley Inn polo and little khaki pants and her most sensible shoes—her Wonkus McBubbles sneakers, of course—and walked into the kitchen. She had made her cowboy sticky buns for a treat the night before. He was eating two of them when she walked in. Ha! She had caught him.

“Fletcher Kenneth Tyler, we have discussed this. You are supposed to eat a healthy breakfast before touching the baked goods.” She shot him that look she had patented just for dealing with him—and womanfully ignored the sight of his naked chest right in front of her. She didn’t really have time today for a half-nekked Fletcher Tyler. She just didn’t. He’d obviously been outside already and had stripped down from his wet clothes. Well, he still had jeans on, wet from the knees down. That man—was he dripping on her clean floor again? “Fletchie…you are dripping on my nice clean floor.”

“Woman, if you do not stop calling me Fletchie , I am going to kiss the utter hell out of you, just so you know. And it will lead to other things. Then you will be late, and Darcey will chomp on you again. I’ll finish this and change into dry clothes before I drive you to the inn.”

Other things? Her stomach clenched as she imagined what those kinds of other things could be. He had been making those kinds of remarks ever since the plane back from Finley Creek.

And saying how he had wasted enough time, that Bruce had proven a point. He’d refused to tell her what that point actually was, though.

She so could not figure that man out at all. She had certainly tried—one scorching kiss at a time since they’d returned. But life had kept interrupting, keeping her from finding those answers.

“I can drive myself, you know.” He was a bit overprotective, her cranky Tyler man. But Dylan was used to that—she had grown up with Arthur Whoeverhewasforreal as her father, after all. That man had hovered over her mother constantly. The girls a bit too. But she suspected that was just the Talley in him—Uncle Gerald was the same way. Hovery creatures, both.

“Not happening. Not in your little tin can. I’m going to take it over to Monroe today. He’s got some free time, and we’re going to see what we can do to fix it.”

He did that sometimes. Fletcher and his cousins Kaece and Reese hung out with their cousin Monroe and worked on cars together. Dusty’s had gotten the special treatment recently, even though she mostly drove a truck provided by her boss.

But shouldn’t Dylan have been asked first?

Still, it gave her a warm, gooey feeling when she realized what was behind it. Fletcher was trying to take care of her , wasn’t he? How sweet.

So all she said was thank you, of course. When what she really wanted to do was stretch up against that perfectly perfect man chest right in front of her and kiss him senseless. Just senseless—and maybe do other things to him too.

Her cheeks heated as he left to put on dry clothes. What was happening to her?

He had only kissed her a few times. Of course, they were scorchers, but… And, well, taken her on an utterly romantic mini-vacation for two, she couldn’t discount that part. And she acted like this?

He held her coat for her and even zipped it all the way up to her neck. He adjusted the hat on her head.

Fletcher liked to fuss , she had learned. Dylan just let him. She had seen Ben do the same to Dusty. And Gil to Sage, come to think of it. Now, Fletcher was doing it to her. Subconsciously? Unconsciously?

He hadn’t done that with her until after the night of the dance. Before that, he’d barely touched her at all. Now, he touched her all the time. And she didn’t stop him. The dance—that was when something had changed. In both of them.

She never would fully understand him. She decided that on the short drive to the inn.

“What time does your shift end?”

“I am splitting, today. I’m covering the dining room this morning for Mey until ten and covering the front desk this evening from four until seven for Daisy.”

“So what about from ten until four today?”

“I’ll probably just go up to the b-attic and snooze, honestly. Or hang with the sisterkins. Since I will not have a car or anything.” She shot him a significant look.

“Sorry, not sorry. Your car needs worked on, honey. I have time to do it today. But if you need to go anywhere in between shifts, call me and I’ll come drive you.”

“I can get a ride, if I need it.” She said it just to see what he would say. Yes, he was definitely thinking something. “Or walk.”

His expression darkened. “You will not walk. You need a ride, you call me, Dylan Geraldine. That is just the way it works now. I’m here, whenever you need me. Period. Remember that.”

Well, didn’t that sound a bit possessive. And just like Mr. Benjamin Tyler and Mr. Gilbert Tyler when they were speaking to their women and everything. Hmm. “Fletchie, sweetie, I am your housekeeper, not your wifey. I am supposed to keep you, not the other way around.”

“Well, I’ve decided that I may just keep you instead.” Then they were at the inn, and he killed the engine. He climbed out and rounded the front. Dylan knew the routine now. Fletcher liked to lift her down—he rarely allowed her to climb down on her own, even though she was perfectly capable of it. And she liked it. He opened her door and she turned toward him instinctively. Then hot male hands were turning her to face him more fully. “You are just going to have to deal with it. Now, I want eggs and bacon. Let’s get you inside. But first…kiss me. It’s going to be a long day, and I want a kiss. Deserve one too.”

Then he was pulling her closer, and out of the truck. And right there in the middle of the inn’s main parking lot, fully under the lights—Fletcher Tyler kissed her.

For real, kissed her.

And Dylan lost all bit of reasoning. Again. Just like it had happened every time the man kissed her. Talk about dangerous.

The man seriously knew how to kiss. Sheesh.