Page 13 of Dahlia Made A List

The storm from last night left a few branches on the ground and the sky a clear, piercing blue. A light breeze wafted through the trees, setting the leaves to whistling. That same breeze teased through Dahlia’s hair, sending the colorful waves into a pretty dance around her expressive face.

I remembered the first time I’d seen her, when she’d come to sign the lease agreement and accept the keys to 26 Redbud. She’d had a bit of a deer-in-the-headlights look then. Wide-eyed, a little apprehensive, but determined. I remember wanting to smooth the worry line creasing her forehead that day.

The way my dick perked up at the sight of her today, soothing her worry was not my first thought.

She paused on the sidewalk, eyeing me through the open passenger-side window. “Been waiting long?”

I shook my head. She didn’t need to know I’d been sitting in front of her rental more’n an hour, suffering the pointed curiosity of neighbors and the machinations of my wily grandmother. “What’d you do to your hair?”

Her lips parted in another smile, fingers sifting through the bright ends. “It’s great, right? I love the colors.”

Shades of light pink and pale gold and orange sherbert replaced the sun-streaked light brown from yesterday, rippling along her shoulders like a waterfall of cotton candy. “It’s something.”

Her eyes flickered, dulled. Shit.

But as quick as the dark emotion flitted into her eyes, it disappeared. “Ready to do the locks?” She turned and skipped to the stairs leading up the side of the building, calling to her neighbor. “Afternoon, Ms. Lester!”

“Dahlia Whitcombe, what did you do to your hair?”

My tenant froze on the porch right before the stairs, panic flaring in her eyes before her chin tilted up and she faced her neighbor head on. “Don’t you love it?” She spun in a graceful circle. “Maia did it today at the salon!”

“Reminds me of that pot of tulips my grandson had delivered last year. Dead in two days.”

“Oh, that’s so sad. Maybe you got a bad batch.” Dahlia whirled around to face the stairs, tearing up the steps like the hounds of hell bit at her heels.

I couldn’t say I saw the point of her colorful hair. Her gold-streaked brown hair suited her just fine. I slanted a mean look at Ms. Lester as I passed the old woman. She gave me a sniff before returning to her precious bushes.

Dahlia lingered at the top, her front door open, taking in my slower progress up the stairs.

“Sorry,” she said when I neared the landing. “I really should have checked with you about the locks. Or at least called you first thing in the morning to let you know I’d changed them.”

I motioned her inside ahead of me and set the new deadbolt, doorknob kit, and screwdriver on the little round table stationed just inside the door. I inspected her contraband lock as she settled on one of the stools posted close to the breakfast bar. Her eyes burned into the side of my head. I fumbled the screwdriver for a minute as I reversed one of the screws holding the knob in place. Fucking hell. Like I’d never used a damn screwdriver before.

“Ms. Lester’s something else, isn’t she? One day I’ll crack her.” She hummed for a minute to herself, then added. “She’s nothing like Ms. Minerva. I love your grandmother. She’s been coming to see me since I started at Maia’s salon, you know.”

She twisted on the stool, toeing herself in a slow circle like a bored kid, face tilted up to the ceiling, back arched, pushing her tits high and pulling the silky green shirt she wore snug until I could make out the shape of her nipples beneath the fabric. I turned my gaze back to the unsanctioned deadbolt before she did a full rotation and caught me staring.

“I bet people tell you they love your grandma all the time.”

Her gaze drilled into the side of my head, burning like a brand from my scalp, down my spine and right to my gut. The idea of standing over her, stripping out of my flannel, her eyes on me with the same persistence with which she studied me now, popped into my head, uninvited.

“I never knew my grandma. Neither of them, actually. I guess we all have two, huh?”

I pushed out a heavy breath. “You put those blue stripes in Minerva’s hair?”

She let out a surprised sound and I looked up.

“I did! She showed me a picture your niece sent her on ‘The TikTok.’” Dahlia twisted a long strand of her cotton candy hair around her finger, inspecting the ends. “When I was growing up, my best friend lived with her grandmother. Suppose that’s as close as I came to having a grandma.”

I grunted again and for once the chatterbox let the silence stretch. I focused on pulling the sides of the doorknob apart and free of the door. I might not know exactly what my wily grandmother was up to, but it had something to do with Dahlia and in a family like mine, it paid to stay ahead of the curve. “You give your friend’s grandmother blue stripes, too?”

She laughed, the sound feathering over me and turning into a curl of pleasure I didn’t want. A little ripple disturbed the air, and I flicked my gaze up in time to see her set the stool to spinning again, tits aimed high. My dick swelled and I fisted the screwdriver.

“No,” she said, “but I would have if I knew how back then.”

Her spinning jerked to a stop and she caught my gaze.

“She died teaching me and Jaelynn how to drive. Jaelynn was my best friend since kindergarten. We were sitting in a left turn lane when a car ran the light and swerved around a car that had already stopped. Ended up running smack into ours. T-boned, they called it.” She tipped her head to the side and firmed her chin. “I never did learn after that.”

---