Page 28 of Dahlia Made A List

An hour alone with Wyatt.

I’d made him butternut squash mac and cheese last night. How hard could it be? I used to prepare boxes of mac and cheese at least once a week. So this one had squash instead of a powdered cheese envelope. It couldn’t be that big a deal.

Somehow the mix never melded into the whole smooth and creamy thing people expected with mac and cheese. Just a lumpy mass of mushy elbow pasta that tasted faintly of cheddar and something else.

Even as Wyatt chased every bite down with a swallow of sweet tea, he never complained. And he kept showing up.

I loved that he kept showing up.

And he let me talk, but somehow guided us into actual conversation, too. He’d not let me hide after the panic attack. Showing up on schedule like nothing had happened. Picking up our talks like he hadn’t nearly been arrested. With every interaction, I cherished the freedom of our conversations more and more. Conversations where I told him things I hadn’t even let myself think. Like the reason I drifted from man to man was because I wanted the connection of belonging to another person.

The connection I might be close to forming with Wyatt.

Dangerous because despite him continuing to show up, he didn’t really share much back. I knew he wanted the papers from Ms. Minerva for the old drive-in. He’d let me drive his flashy Firebird around and around the place while he worked inside the projector room just the night before last. And I knew the place was special to him because it was something he shared with his granddad.

Chewing the last bite of bagel smothered in peanut butter, I left the plate in the sink and moved to the French doors, took a sip of my hibiscus tea and leaned my elbows on the balustrade of the balcony. The quiet of the morning eased a little of my worry. The sun burned away some of the apprehension trying to creep along my spine.

Wyatt Weston didn’t do anything he didn’t want to do. If he was driving me down to Richland, hanging out with me as I checked this item off my list, then that was exactly what he wanted to do.

I didn’t need to know his life history to know that about the man. He could keep his secrets. If he wanted me to know them, he’d share them with me in his own time. I blinked against the giddy rush of emotion that flashed through me at the idea of Wyatt confiding in me.

Then the rumble of the familiar black Silverado broke the quiet and pulled a smile to my lips. I turned on my heel, hauled my bag over my shoulder and tossed my equipment tote with my skates over the other shoulder, before grabbing the extra travel mug. Holding both mugs against my boobs, I managed to pull the door closed and turn Wyatt’s fancy new deadbolt then hustled down the stairs without landing on my ass.

He met me at the porch. Heat filled my cheeks, pleasure washing over me.

A mild glare aimed at the pair of mugs pressed against my chest. “Still not drinking your flower tea.”

I grinned. “Just in case.”

He pulled the tote from my shoulder, finagling it through the straps of the back like a pro and ambled in his slow, efficient stroll to the passenger side of the truck. He stashed the tote in the back and turned to cock his head where I stood staring after him. The heat exploded into flames.

“Sorry!” I burst out, hustling so maybe I could pretend the rush to join him put the color in my cheeks and not his presence or my fascination in watching him move. “Trying to remember if I forgot anything.”

He wagged his head, propped his hand low on his hip and gave me a Wyatt Look. This one meant “sure.” Between his looks and his grunts, I’d made up my own Wyatt Language.

“It could work,” I said when I reached his side, as though staring into space counted as concentration. Looking up at him, taking in the beard filling in along his jaw. “You cut your hair.”

Night before last, his hair was long enough to curl around the collar of his shirt. Today, he wore it cropped close on the sides, but he’d left the top long enough to get a handful. My fingertips twitched and I turned to put my bag on the floorboards before I climbed up into the truck.

I’d created The List to avoid sex, to give myself distractions from dwelling on things I didn’t want to dwell on and to open myself up to exploring what I needed to feel happy. To find my perfect life. How I was meant to spend the rest of my days. Wyatt was kind enough to help me with The List. I had no business thinking of him, and even less business thinking about having my hands in his hair.

One of the travel mugs tumbled from my grip, clattering down to bounce off the running board and to the curb below. Wyatt ducked down to get it, his tan henley pulling tight across his wide shoulders. My eyes burned and refused to look away. The mug was feeling the earth’s magnetic force, rolling from the curb to the grass. Wyatt twisted and my eyes dropped to the dark denim pulling across his ass. To the way his heavy thighs stretched the fabric. Heat curled through me, want pooling low in my belly like I hadn’t felt in a long, long time. A little flutter hit my chest and I sucked in a deep breath.

My gaze tracked him as he straightened up, his well-worn jeans giving me a show, and if I angled my head just so, I think I could make out the outline of his dick.

Crap.

He held the mug out, the corner of his lips cocked up in a smirk. I snatched the wayward mug and twisted around in the seat to face forward. My voice too high, I snapped, “Well, let’s go then.”

He laughed. The husky sound rippled over my skin and sank deep. I rolled my lips together. What would it be like to experience his laugh all the time? To be the one that gave it to him? He didn’t laugh much. So serious, so intent on whatever was going on behind those shuttered brown eyes.

The heavy truck door closed with a softwhump. He rounded the back, and I opened my mouth the instant he sank into the driver’s seat.

“I’m thinking either ‘Flower Power’ or ‘Flower Bomb’ or maybe even ‘Killblossom.’”

He grunted, cranking the truck up and heading us south toward Richland.

“I have to have a derby name.” I moved his McDonald’s coffee mug to the second cupholder and settled the extra hibiscus tea in the one nearest him.

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