Page 11 of Isla

“Pretty much daily,” I chuckle.

“We should start a club. The Existential Islanders.”

I snort. “I’ll have jackets made.”

He grins. “I like you.” There is no ulterior motive behind the words—just honesty.

“I think I like you, too.” I key in the garage code. “Don’t tell anyone. I have to keep up my bad girl image.”

He pretends to lock his lips and then throws me the imaginary key. I motion for him to get in the car as I sink into the driver’s seat. I turn her on, and Dylan’s eyes roll back, his head dropping against the headrest. I shift in my seat, my visceral reaction to him burning through my body, turning my cheeks scarlet.

He looks at me, his glasses slightly askew, those big brown eyes wide open. “Holy shit, Isla.”

“Right?” I grin and pull out of the garage, taking a left out of the driveway. I hold back on the gas, not sure if I can handle finding out if he likes a wild ride. If he does–Lord help me.

“You’re not going to open her up?” he asks, confusion on his face. “Theo told me he thought he was going to die last night.”

I laugh. “Do you have a death wish?”

He shrugs. “I think I’d be okay dying in this car.”

“Yeah?”Fuck me. I don’t dare look over at him. If I see the look that Iknowis on his face, I’m done for. Instead, I turn on the radio and stomp on the gas pedal, shifting through gears seconds apart. Dylan rolls his window down and sticks his arm out, riding the air current. The wind roars through the car, pulling my hair from its elastic. I blow past the pub, feeling too free to deal with what’s waiting for me there. I sneak a look at Dylan and find him staring at me with a look I can’t place. He blushes, throws his head back, and croons along with the song, using the dashboard as makeshift drums. I join in, singing at the top of my lungs. When we come to the roundabout, I do the responsible thing and head back toward the pub. I wish I could keep driving like this forever. Music up, good company, the sound of the engine drowning out the noise in my head. I pull into the parking lot and turn off the car. We both stare out the windshield in dead silence before bursting into laughter.

“God, I haven’t had fun like that in so long,” he wheezes, wiping tears from his eyes.

“That’s kinda lame,” I joke. “It was just a car ride.”

“No, it wasn’t. It was a ride inthiscar withyou.”

The grin slips from his face, and suddenly, the high-fashion model version of Dylan is looking back at me, oozing sex appeal. Heat roars through my veins, my fingers itching to slide off his glasses and pull his face to mine. I push the urge down and hop out of the car, slamming the door behind me. I look at Dylan before going inside. He’s still sitting in the car with a slightly dazed look on his face. I raise my eyebrow at him when his gaze meets mine. He gives me a shit-eating grin and unfolds himself from his seat, pausing witha hand on the door, looking at me looking at him. He’s fucking gorgeous. He closes the door gently, his eyes locked with mine.

“Say it.”

“Say what?” I ask.

“What you’re thinking. Life would be much easier if everyone were honest with each other.”

He’s right, it would be. But that’s also terrifying. I clear my throat. “I was just thinking about how good you look in my car.”

“Yeah?” The corner of his mouth tilts up.

“Yeah.” My breath stutters as he stops in front of me, the toes of his shoes touching the toes of my boots. I crane my neck to look up at him, my heart in my throat. He dips his face closer, his thumb brushing my cheek.

“You have freckles in your eyes,” he whispers in wonder.

“Are you two going to stand there forever, or are we going to get to work?” Theo asks roughly, poking his head outside, grumpy as ever.

Dylan blows out a loud sigh, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I guess we better get started.” He holds the door open for me to pass.

The second my foot crosses the threshold, I’m struck by how different it feels inside. The hope I always carried with me, knowing that it would one day be mine, has disappeared. It’s not a good feeling. Dylan sets his bag on the bar and pulls out his laptop. I round the bar and pour two glasses of water, making sure there’s lots of ice. I watch as he pulls up the spreadsheets I sent him last night. We spend the next hour in accounting hell. Once we hash out all the numbers and I walk him through payroll, he closes his laptop and pulls out a notebook.

“What about marketing?”

I laugh. “What marketing?”

His eyebrows shoot up. “Really? So that’s a completely untapped market. I know you must have some ideas–anything you’re willing to share?”

I think for a second. “I’ve been wanting to go check out some of the pubs in Edinburgh. Not to copy,” I clarify, “but to get inspiration.”

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