Page 27 of The Checklist
“Just checking.” Mike shrugged, putting one hand in his pocket. “You actually want to help? You aren’t just making a pity offer? I value honesty, and I promise I can take it if you really don’t want to do this.”
“I’m being honest. I want to do this.” Dylan’s pro bono scheme was only half-baked, but she added extra emphasis on “want” anyway.
“I know you said you would help. But I figured you’d tell me to open the windows in there and learn how to plug in a light.” Dylan narrowed her eyes, reinforcing the idea that he should choose his next words wisely. “Not, you know, actually invest your time. You have an important job and all.” He exhaled, his other hand dropping to his side.
She let loose a laugh that sounded more like a groan. “Trust me, it is not as big a deal as it sounds. Besides, I might be able to swing this as a pro bono project for Kaplan.” Dylan regretted adding that detail the second it escaped her mouth. Mike’s smile was giving off a glow that rivaled the fluorescents in the hallway. “Don’t get too excited. That isn’t a promise or anything. And you’ll probably have to do most of the legwork—”
“No. No. I’m happy with whatever you can do.” Mike cut her off mid-expectation-management speech. “I’m glad someone else even thinks it is a viable idea.”
Dylan’s mind spasmed. This was hardly a viable idea.
Mike’s excitement saved her from having to develop a response to the room’s usability. “But yes, I can put together a list of places to check out. I’ll drop it by your house next time I stop by my moms’ place.”
“Great,” Dylan said, as much to reassure herself as to encourage him.
Crossing back through the colorful entrance, she dodged a few eager third graders. School had let out, and the space was starting to fill up. Mike looked perfectly at home surrounded by roughly a hundred screaming children. Normally, Dylan would have found the entire thing overwhelming, but between Mike grinning and occasionally waving at kids who recognized him, the museum was suddenly the single most charming place she had ever set foot in.
Hesitating at the visibly sticky door handle, Dylan decided the museum’s charm had its limits. Mike must have taken her reluctance to touch the door as a sign he should open it. Leaning in, he reached around her shoulder to push the handle of the door. The familiar and unusual heat of another body so close sent shivers through her. She stood in front of the open door a fraction of a second longer than she meant to, enjoying the sensation of being near another person. Particularly one who waved at kids and had a jaw sculpted out of marble.
“So I’ll come by later?”
“Yup. Absolutely.” Dylan wasn’t sure if he was asking a question or gently encouraging her to move out of the doorway and stop trying to snuggle with him. She hurried through the door, pretending to furiously dig around in her purse for her keys, as if they were not always in the second-innermost pocket. After shuffling around a lipstick and a few pens for good measure, she pulled out her keys, feigning a look of triumph.
“Thanks for coming by,” Mike said, relaxing against the doorjamb. Dylan decided he probably tossed that same casual, seductive grin atanyone from fellow PhD students to benefactors. Whatever. It worked for him, and she needed to leave right now, before it worked on her too.
“Yup. See ya!” Dylan waved and executed one of her better speed walks to the car, willing herself not to look back. She hopped into the driver’s seat, buckled up, and started the car with the kind of efficiency a NASCAR driver would envy. Exhaling, she looked at herself in the rearview mirror.
“Okay, Dylan. For everyone’s sake, please never use the word ‘yup’ again.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Dylan let herself sit idle in the driveway for a second, wondering if helping Mike with Crescent really made sense. Didn’t she have something good with Nicolas? Should she really be palling around with some other guy for a community service project?
Pushing herself out of the car, she decided that there was nothing going on between herself and Mike that constituted a threat to her relationship with Nicolas. This was her mind making some impressive mental leaps. Her imagination really had nothing to do with the guy next door and more to do with her and Nicolas’s dry spell. It was just kind of hard to feel sexy when he was shouting into his phone all the time.
“That you, Dyl?” Neale’s voice singsonged from the kitchen as Dylan crossed the front door threshold and shrugged off her coat. She looked down at her heels and then the rug and decided to keep her shoes on.
“Coming.” Dylan pressed her cold fingers to her cheeks to mask the flush, then pulled her shoulders back and strutted into the kitchen.
Giving Dylan a once-over, Bernice scratched a fleck of dried glaze on her neck. “You’re home early. How was your day?”
“Busy. I decided it’d be good for Kaplan and Technocore to pick a pro bono project.” Dylan felt the white lie slip off her tongue and hid it by turning toward the sink for a glass of water. Her mother could smell lies; she was sure of it.
“Really? What is it?” Neale asked.
“I think everyone at Technocore recognizes they haven’t been a community player, and Crescent Children’s Museum is looking to do some pretty cool cutting-edge tech stuff.”
Dylan turned away from the sink as her mother’s eyebrow stretched toward her in-need-of-a-touch-up roots. “Oh? The good-looking boy across the street’s place?”
“Mom. You know his name.” Dylan exhaled.
“I know his last name. But I can’t blame you, sweetheart. The good-looking ones are always a bad idea. Don’t worry—we’ve all made that mistake. Trust me.” Bernice winked at Neale.
If Dylan hadn’t already swallowed her water, she would have choked on it. “Mom. No winking. It’s gross, and I know for a fact neither Neale nor I want to hear the story behind it.”
“Actually—”
“No, we don’t.” Dylan cut Neale off and shot her a look that wielded more than daggers.
