Page 30 of Dahlia Made A List

His grunt came softer this time. But in my Wyatt Lexicon, it sure sounded like an agreement. I didn’t push and offered up instead, “Number Seven is to spend the night in a yurt.”

“The fuck’s a yurt?”

“Oh, it’s so neat, you’d love it. It’s this round, cabin-not-a-cabin building but not really a building either sort of place. Vida’s mom’s dog found one along the trail behind the Gas n’ Apple.”

“That right.”

“It is. And Vida took me out there and I spoke to the clerk, and they gave me a number for the man who put in the yurt last year. I already made a reservation. And lucky I got one, too, he said. Apparently, the Blue Ridge tourists keep him booked.”

Wyatt made another sound, a new one I hadn’t cataloged yet, but didn’t say anything more.

“Number Eight is to host a dinner party once I have my signature dish. I figured it would be a sorta celebratory thing. And a thank you to you and Maia and your grandmother and the gang at the Shameless Readers.” I slanted him another look, gauging his response. His gaze fixed on the highway spread before us. “But I have to figure out my dish first, of course.”

“Number Nine is learning to drive and Number Ten is the derby tryout.”

“Is it working?”

“Is what working?”

“Your list.”

My hands fluttered between us. “Well, I’m not having sex, if that’s what you’re asking.”

His hands tightened around the steering wheel until the knuckles glowed white. His beard moved, as though he’d clenched his teeth, and I wanted to squeal with the new knowledge.

He might not say the words, but he thought about me. He thought about me and about sex. About me and sex.

“It’s working,” I told him.

I grinned the rest of the way, until my cheeks hurt and Richland came into view.

As the AI voice guided us to the rec center hosting the tryouts, I thought about my list. I hadn’t lied to Wyatt. It was definitely working. But I didn’t tell him it was working even better than trying to avoid sex and bad boyfriends. I’d made friends with people in the book club. I was pushing myself to do things I’d let slip aside as I focused on the ambitions of the guys I dated instead of my personal aspirations.

I discovered I didn’t much care for eggs for breakfast. I’d much rather have a toasted bagel smothered in creamy peanut butter.

I discovered I liked sleeping on my belly, sprawled wide and taking up more than my fair share of the blanket.

I discovered I could hold a grunt-filled conversation with a good man and come away happy.Happy. Not worried that I’d said the wrong thing or said too much or talked too long.

I didn’t come away from talking to Wyatt or Maia or the people at the book club feeling ashamed or embarrassed or regretful. The last time I felt so okay in my skin, I’d been fifteen years old and in the backseat of Jaelynn’s grandma’s car.

Chapter Ten

Wyatt

Halftheparkinglotof the rec center stood empty. I heaved Dahlia’s tote from the back of the truck cab and turned to walk with her toward the entrance.

“I think today is to check if we can skate, mostly.”

Her words came a little rushed, a little higher pitched at the end. I didn’t like seeing her nervous. “Then you’ll have no problem.”

She nodded, her colorful hair caught up in a ponytail that made my palm itch. “Right,” she said with a determined nod, ponytail swinging. “And then maybe test if we know the basics of derby.”

“You mean, about blockers and jammers? The crap you’ve been spewing between reciting who goes first at a four way stop?” I pulled the heavy metal door wide and she ducked under my arm to pass inside, but not before rolling her eyes up at me.

“What if the DMV asks about a four-way on the test? You think they're gonna let me skip that question? I don’t think so. There’s a lot of information to memorize.”

The corner of my lips tilted up as she powered inside. Handwritten signs in Pepto Bismol pink pointed us through to a big, open gymnasium already loud with all the bodies. Foldaway plastic chairs like the ones you’d see in a high school lunchroom lined one wall. Across from them, stadium seating rose up, with people and gear dotting the benches. The end opposite from where we stood had more seating and signs dangling from the ceiling. I read ‘Rush Sugar Rush’ and ‘Unleash the Hellberry’ with a shake of my head. My little flower may have her work cut out for her fitting in with this bloodthirsty bunch.

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