Page 16 of Dahlia Made A List

Well fine, grumpy. More for me, then.

Ten minutes later we reached the outskirts of Doddridge County, almost into Pendleton County and Mapleton. I adored Mapleton, the biggest town in the Three Corners area, with the most shops and things going on. On Saturdays there was a big farmers’ market in the field beside the Gas n’ Apple. And once a month, a bunch of the car clubs gathered on Pendleton Square to parade their vehicles. This past Christmas, they’d gone all out with a DJ and a Santa perched in an old black Model T Ford, food vendors and a bouncy house for the kids. Turned the whole thing into a holiday festival, against the backdrop of tons and tons of cars.

The roller derby team from Richland even turned out, done up in their flashy derby costumes and showing off their kick-ass skating skills. I spent most of the time watching them dip and spin around spectators, all while on skates. I knew how to skate. Or, at least, I knew how when I was a kid. I would pick it up again in no time. During their Christmas exhibition, one of the skaters passed me a flier. I’d saved it, tucked away in the drawer of the bathroom vanity. They’d be recruiting soon and I intended to make the team.

Trying out was on The List and I was now committed to each item on my list, holding on to the idea of it and the completion of each item like a drowning woman hanging off the side of the Titanic. As if The List offered my last chance at happiness.

I needed what The List represented. Because every move I’d made since arriving in Weston Mill wasn’t working. I was the same girl who flitted from man to man in Richland, who begged for scraps of affection, the afterthought in fair-weather friendships. I’d made some changes—Maia and even Ms. Minerva served as proof that I was making real friends. But Brandon. Well, he was proof I’d not done enough.

I twisted in the mammoth seat of the Silverado and took in my quiet companion. Why had he agreed to teach me to drive? No one did anything without some sort of payback. So what was he getting out of this?

I’d first seen him when he met me at the house to give me the keys six months ago, and we’d interacted face-to-face maybe three times since. More often than not, we spoke by phone. I’d text something about the apartment, he’d call me back. Always gruff, but never rude. He had one of those voices that made the skin along the back of my neck get hot. Sorta like Henry Cavill when he used his Geralt voice. I never minded Wyatt’s return calls.

Today, his cap smooshed his hair, leaving some dark curls to escape and tease around his ears and the collar of his dark blue and tan flannel. A heavy scruff shadowed the cut of his jaw. He might be growing a beard, he had such scruff happening. More than just skipping a few days of shaving. Tidy under his chin and along his neck, too. Definitely growing a beard out. I’d dated men with beards, but somehow Wyatt’s looked darker, thicker. If he rubbed his face against my skin, what would the bristles along his cheeks feel like? His warm breath chased by the delicious scratch of his scruff. I shivered, squeezed my fingers around the cups until the tips of my fingers protested.

He had pronounced cheekbones and thick dark brows that slanted in now as he darted me a look. He grunted and heat filled my cheeks. Busted. “You’re really good-looking. I mean, you have that scar in your eyebrow, but it just gives you the whole rugged, outdoorsman vibe.”

The truck veered toward the grassy shoulder, but he jerked the vehicle back in line with another low grunt.

I flashed a grin in his direction when he frowned at the roadway ahead. “The grunting is weird, though, Wyatt, I have to tell you. Words are cool. You should try 'em every now and then. Just to freak people out.”

“You talk a lot.”

“Silences are boring.” I hated silence. Too ripe for thinking, which never turned out right for me. Thinking led to overthinking which led to indecision which led to questions and confusion. But one thing I knew for certain: I liked Wyatt. He seemed safe. Like he had his act together and I could trust him. But what was he getting out of this? “So, just so you know, I’m not going to sleep with you.”

The truck jerked again, this time a hair’s breadth from taking out an old mailbox as Wyatt fumbled into a turn leading into what looked like an abandoned drive-in theater. I needed to remind him about the purpose of The List; that if he expected sex in exchange for teaching me to drive, it wouldn’t be happening, no matter how many times I imagined his beard against the skin of my neck. But as I took in our surroundings, that worry fell to the wayside. “Is this a drive-in? The real deal? Did people used to watch movies here, from their cars and stuff?”

The driveway narrowed and he navigated between two old-fashioned little buildings like you might see on an old toll road. Once on the other side, I craned my neck to take in as much as possible. A squat building stretched along the back while at the far front, a massive wall extended up into the sky. “How many stories high is that thing? Could they really play movies on a screen that big?”

He wound the truck along the back, avoiding the posts dotting the whole middle between the buildings and the wall at the front until he shoved the truck into park in front of the most modern-looking structure in the place. A silver garage door gleamed under the morning sun, but Wyatt unfastened his seatbelt and pinned me with a look before I could climb down and explore.

“Just so I know?”

I ran my fingers over my thighs. The chocolate brown of his eyes burned a hole in my confidence. “Yeah?”

“The fuck you on about?”

“With my list and all . . . ” My voice drifted into nothing as I regathered my thoughts. “It’s kinda weird that you volunteered to teach me to drive. I mean, it’s not like we’re friends. Though we may be doomed because I don’t think I can drive this truck. Even if you’re the best driving instructor on the planet.”

“I’m gettin’ this is gonna be a struggle for you, but let's stick to one topic before we move on to your driving.”

I swallowed, my throat suddenly parched. “Okay.”

“You made a list of things you’re gonna do instead of sex.” He tipped the brim of his ball cap back. “Agree if I’m on the right track.”

“Yes, I made a list.”

“Because of your pretty boy ex.”

I folded my leg into the seat so I could turn and address him face-to-face. This distinction was important. “No, not because of him. He was nothing. Just another knot in a long string of knots.”

His bottom lip plumped out as he opened his mouth to ask another question. My eyes on his lips, I interrupted. “The List is for me. Brandon is a symptom. The List is a cure.”

Despite the warm sunshine of the spring day, I shivered, crossing my arms over my chest to fold my fingers up into my pits. I’m not sure I’d ever been so honest with another human being. Not since I lost Jaelynn and her grandma and plummeted into this whole miserable thing called adulting.

His gaze needled me, unreadable but not unkind, and when he let it drift from my face, to my neck, to the vee of my crop top, he chased the chill right away.

“Don’t move.”

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