Page 39 of Dahlia Made A List

“Pontiac Firebird—”

“Limited Edition you’re currently huddling under like an eight year old boy hiding from his grandpa.”

“With my 1977 Pontiac Firebird Trans AmSpecialEdition.” I sighed. “Yeah.”

“Deal, my flaming red hair.”

“You’re not a redhead, Millsy.”

“You’ve got a thing for her.”

“I’m not sleeping with Dahlia.”

Her shoes smacked against the cement of the floor when she jumped down. She kicked my boot with the pointy tip of her fancy high heel. “I didn’t say you were sleeping with her. I said youhave a thingfor her. Big difference.”

She slowly walked the length of the car, turned and paced to the other end. She’d done the same thing back in high school. My cousin did her best thinking while moving. Fuck my life for being the focus of her thinking now. “Millsy, it’s nothing.”

“You barely let the women you do sleep with get in your precious car. Usually it’s the truck. Now you’re letting this Dahlialearn to drivein the Firebird? If you don’t bring her to dinner Sunday, I may never speak to you again.”

“Millsy, I’m not talking about Dahlia with you.”

“Of course you are. Not like you can go to your brother. He’d ask her bra size. And Grams isn’t useful in this situation, either, God bless her. She’d tell you to take her on a picnic or the church social or something else equally cringey.”

“There is no situation to discuss.”

“Of course there is. Otherwise, you wouldn’t still be hiding beneath the Firebird.”

I shoved out from under the car and leapt to my feet. “No, Millsy. Need me to be a little clearer to get it through your head? I’m doing the woman a favor. I am not sleeping with her. There is nosituation.”

She held her hands up, palms facing me and shook her head. “Calm your tits, Wy. Geez.” She patted my chest. “You have all of 3C fooled thinking you’re this calm, quiet man wandering from here to there doing God only knows what. But boring, quiet guys don’t have flashy muscle cars. And they sure as shit don’t get the hots for a girl with pink hair. You may have everyone else fooled, but you’re no more interested in a boring life than the rest of the family, and your race car and girlfriend prove it.”

I wrapped my arm around her waist and half walked, half carried her back to her sedan. “Millsy, love you, but we’re done here. Get lost.”

She kissed my cheek with an exaggerated smack, plopped down into the driver’s seat and took off. I tracked her progress until she turned past the ticket booth and disappeared out of view.

I didn’t like the smug grin she wore as she left. I didn’t like the spike of unease lancing down my back, either.

I’d walked out on Dahlia last night, and just as well, too. I’d settle up with Grams at dinner, get the deed for my damn drive-in, and get my life back to normal. To how things were before a sexy-as-fuck cotton-candy-haired chatterbox tore my routine to shreds.

Chapter Thirteen

Dahlia

Iploppeddownonthe side of my bed and stared at my cell. I’d sent two texts to Wyatt today, but he hadn’t answered either one. My first message, a long rambling apology for pretty much attacking him at dinner last night . . . I hadn’t really been surprised he ignored that one. But my second, confirming the plans we’d made for tonight? He normally would have called back by now. I had a feeling I’d screwed up even worse than I’d previously thought.

Despite my breakdown in the shower, resolve straightened my spine. I’d come too far to abandon The List. I’d found friendships in unexpected places, and counted Wyatt right up there with Jae. No way would I sacrifice him without a fight.

Kissing Wyatt had been a mistake. One I regretted, sure, but nothing we couldn’t move past. I could reestablish our friends-only, no touching relationship. We could continue our friendship. He had a bottomless stomach and I could fill it. I could help him out at The Royal. I was good at finding ways to insinuate myself into someone’s routine and keeping Wyatt was all the motivation I needed.

Wyatt was supposed to pick me up and we were going to head over to the cruise-in held monthly at the airstrip. He’d suggested it when we spoke about me finding my own car. I might have fussed with my clothes a little more than usual getting ready today. I’d settled on a pair of flared jeans that stopped above my ankle and a sky blue off-the-shoulder cropped sweater. Once the sun went down, it would turn cool enough to get away with the sweater and it was just so dang cute, and made me feel pretty and confident, I wanted to wear it.

I needed all the confidence I could muster after the crash and burn with Ms. Lester. Between that and the stupid kiss and Wyatt ignoring me all day, I was on the verge of crawling into bed and binging every episode of every season ofStranger Things. Anything to stop the downward spiral threatening from the corner of my brain.

Dressed and ready fifteen minutes early, I wandered to my French doors and leaned against the wall to look out, taking in the trees, the hydrangeas and azaleas, the barren street below. Maybe he wasn’t coming. Maybe he was done with me. Maybe my crawling into his lap last night disgusted him and he meant to stay a million miles away from me from now until eternity.

I folded my hands up under my arms to warm fingers gone cold and gnawed on my lower lip. I shouldn’t have texted Wyatt. I should have called him up and given my apology directly, so he could hear in my voice how much I meant my words. He never responded to texts, he always preferred to speak on the phone. I should have done him that courtesy and called with my apology. So he could trust me when I said it wouldn’t happen again. Rolling so my shoulder pressed against the wall, my eyes focused on the end of the street where Rosebud met Main and the direction Wyatt would be coming from. If he came.

He’d been so supportive at the derby tryouts. Bolstering my courage at the start when the sounds in the loud gym turned the cacophony of noise into an assault on my equilibrium. His melty brown eyes steady and warm on mine, calming the chaos and pulling me back into focus. I’d wanted to hug him for the lack of judgment in his gaze, the encouragement as he said “Killblossom” as though everything made all the sense in the world. As though he would make it right. As if together, everything could work.

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