Page 39 of Luck of the Draw

Which was how I ended up crouched between two goats, chickens pecking at my feet.

I wasn’t sure how long I stayed like that as Stella whisked around with a paintbrush, paint flying across the tarp, on the chickens, and on the goats, with Dottie standing behind her and making noises of appreciation. At one point, she laughed and said, “Oh, youdohave a wicked imagination,” which hadn’t made me feel great about what I was going to see on the canvas. Then a flash of headlights could be seen through the trees, and Dottie perked up.

“The food I ordered must have arrived. Dylan, would you be a dear and go get it?”

Stella looked inclined to object, but my knee was twinging from crouching for so long, so I got up, holding one of the supports of the gazebo for leverage.

“You ordered food?” Stella asked in disbelief.

I was thinking the same thing. Dottie was the queen of making everything herself. It seemed like she never went anywhere without at least three Tupperware containers full of food. In fact, she’d put two big Tupperware containers on ice in the back of the car.

But I didn’t stick around to ask for an explanation.

“I’ll be back,” I called behind me, heading up through the woods.

I knew it was her before I saw her face. It was shadowy, but her curvy figure was unmistakable. I’d spent hours touching that body, tasting it, worshipping it with mine.

She stood next to an old beater of a car, her posture indicating some sort of indecision as she looked at the house. Her back was to me, and I didn’t want to scare her, so I softly said her name.

“Dee.”

She whirled around, pulling something out of her pocket as she did, and I found myself staring down a container of pepper spray.

“I come in peace,” I said, lifting my hands and smiling. Because as soon as she registered that I wasn’t some random pervert walking along a country road, waiting for people to park their cars, a look of horror came over her face. It was obvious she hadn’t known I would be there.

And equally obvious that Dottie hadn’t ordered any food—this was clearly some sort of machination she’d cooked up with Dee’s friend Sam.

“Oh my God, Dylan. I…I didn’t know you would be here. I swear. I’m not stalking you. Ollie dropped the sprinkle cake right in front of Sam’s house, and he was really upset, especially since he really wanted to bring the chocolate one home for me, and she told me that she knew someone who could bring us dessert, and I just had to pick it up at this address. So I came here, but—” She waved a hand to me, then to the little yellow house and the whole lot of nothing around us.

“They set us up,” I said, “Sam and Dottie, I’m assuming.”

She started nodding, and it was like she couldn’t stop.

“The good news is that Dottie brought two big Tupperware containers with her, so there’s a very good chance you’ll still get dessert out of this.”

Her cheeks had gone a deep pink again, like in the store. “I’m so embarrassed, Dylan. About what happened earlier. And the boys…I should have told you about the boys. I just—”

She was still nodding her head, a nervous tic now, so I lifted a hand to her cheek, cupping her face. “You don’t have anything to be embarrassed about, Dee. You could have mentioned your boys earlier, and it wouldn’t have mattered. I like kids. I’ve always liked kids.”

“You called me Dee,” she said softly, not attempting to pull away. Something glinted in her eyes as she looked at me, some of the shock turning into a softer emotion. And I remembered what she’d said in the store. How she’d acted likeshemight not be good enough forme, when up until yesterday, I hadn’t had much of a prospect of being anything more than a bartender.

“Dottie told me it’s your nickname.”

Another slight nod. “But I like it when you call me Deeandra.”

“So I will,” I said, lowering my hand. “Seems to me we have some things to discuss, Deeandra.” I gestured to the steps leading up to the house. “Will you sit with me?”

Chapter Eleven

Dee

Dylan droppedhis hand from my face and the first thing that hit me was an incredible sense of loss. Like something important was missing, but then he opened the gate and recaptured my hand, linking our fingers as he tugged me to the porch steps.

Without releasing my hand, he maneuvered us to perch side by side on the steps.

We sat like that for several seconds before I said, “I’m so sorry I ran out like that.”

“You already apologized,” he said, turning to face me. “Dee, I’m not the kind of man who needs endless apologies after a disagreement. One heartfelt one is enough for me.”

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