Page 23 of Dahlia Made A List

My heart swelled and I had to blink back tears. I had friends. Friends who expected me to show up and contribute. Who wanted to know my thoughts. “All read up. And filled with opinions!”

Laughing, Maia held the front door of the salon open and I stepped out onto the sidewalk with a grateful smile. I crossed my bag over my chest so the heavy monstrosity didn’t throw off my balance and pushed off toward Redbud.

For the first time in my adult life, my days felt busy. Busy in a way that wasn’t meant to be a distraction, wasn’t meant to keep me from thinking about things I didn’t want to think about. But busy in an intentional, healthy way. Building a deeper friendship with Maia, with the others in the Shameless Reader group. Learning to drive with Wyatt. Learning to cook, though I had a long way to go in that department.

Baby steps, maybe, but steps I hadn’t even been able to conceive of a month ago.

Quicker than expected, I skated onto Redbud Lane. Sweat trickled between my shoulder blades. I picked up my speed when I caught sight of the bright gold Firebird sparkling in the sunshine. In typical Wyatt form, he’d arrived early. The man never failed to keep his schedule.

Sun shimmered off the metallic finish of his classic car pulled up in front of my rental. If I owned a car like the Firebird, I would never bother with the big ol’ Silverado. I’d have the T-tops out and the windows down and the music blasting day and night, all year long.

I waved to old Mr. McCluskey rockin’ to a rhythm only he could hear on his front porch and skated my way along the walk to my own porch. Wyatt leaned against the railing, arms crossed over his bulky chest, ball cap pulled low to shield his eyes. But one corner of his mouth tipped up and even if I couldn’t see his eyes, I could feel his gaze run over me. Feel the gentle amusement in his look, too. I bit back a smile, but happiness sparked inside me.

“Practice?” he asked.

I grinned. “Yep.” I did a little spin as I reached him.

“Good thing I put in the big pavers for this sidewalk, I’m thinkin’. I went with the brick, you couldn’t do those fancy twirls.”

“It’d be bumpy, that’s for sure.”

“What’s the plan, then?”

“I’ll go change real quick. Wait here or upstairs?”

He swept his cap off and scrubbed a hand through his dark hair. “Don’t take all day.”

He shoved off the porch post and stomped down to the Firebird. I rushed up to my apartment, set water to heat in the electric kettle, did the quickest wash-up in the history of ever, and changed into a pair of jeans.

By the time I made it back to Wyatt, out of breath from rushing and cradling a pair of travel mugs, he’d taken up his usual lean against his flashy black car. He’d added a pair of aviators under his cap to hide his eyes, but his lips twitched as he took in my offering.

“Brought you a hibiscus tea.”

“Is that supposed to keep me calm when you get behind the wheel?”

I reared back with an exaggerated gasp. “Why wouldn’t you be calm? Have I not circled the 3C Airstrip exactly 370 times with absolute perfection?” I pushed the silver travel cup against the unyielding wall of his chest. When he ignored me, I squeezed my fingers around the thing, heart racing with the yearning to touch him. “You need this tea for the health of your heart.”

He tipped his head toward the driver’s side door. “Get in.”

I grinned up at him. At least the heat flushing up my neck and into my cheeks could be attributed to my rush down the stairs. Wyatt didn’t need to know how much I wanted to explore and memorize every peak and valley of his chest.

A moment later, I settled into the driver’s seat. I thrust both mugs at my grumpy instructor. “You didn’t think cup holders would be a good upgrade when you were adding all the fancy bells and whistles to the car?”

He flipped up the center console and set the mugs into the two round holders revealed.

I laughed. “Smart ass.”

“Let’s stay off the busier roads, yeah? See how it goes in the neighborhoods to start. Especially since you don’t have any kind of license yet.”

For the next hour, we criss-crossed the side streets and neighborhoods of Weston Mill. I nailed the four-way stops, a newly installed roundabout, and even practiced parallel parking. Only then did Wyatt deem me ready for the busier streets.

Weston Mill didn’t have a rush hour, but Main Street was the closest thing we had to busy, which meant more vehicles, more intersections, and red lights. I tightened my fingers around the thick tan leather of the steering wheel when I spotted a car coming from the opposite direction.

As the car came closer, I couldn’t pull my gaze from it. Even as my fingers and arms tensed, my foot lifted the pressure on the gas pedal and the Firebird slowed. As though immersed in a dream, I understood I was slowing the car down, that I was about to stop in the middle of the bustling street, but I couldn’t stop myself. My heartbeat ratcheted up, fluttering a million miles an hour.

“Dahlia?”

My vision narrowed to the oncoming car, the rest of the world blacked out. A foggy haze funneled my sight down to nothing more than the other car and my foot slipped from the accelerator entirely. I didn’t downshift, which meant as my speed slowed, the car stalled, jerking me between the hard curve of the steering wheel and the seat.

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