Page 71 of Dylan (Bad Boys After Dark)
She turned, catching him ogling her, and she lifted a shoulder and smiled. He blew her a kiss, knowing that no matter what happened when they were with his mother, even if they broke down in tears, it would be easier to get through because Tiffany was there with him.
Two hours later, Dylan drove slowly down the residential street where he’d grown up. Memories popped up like spring blooms as he passed the Arts and Crafts style bungalows intermixed with Queen Anne style homes, like his mother’s. He had fond memories of playing ball in the backyard and carousing at night with his brothers and friends. And, as they always did, as he parked his motorcycle in front of his childhood home, harsher memories came rushing back.
He was adept at forcing them away, and he did so as he stepped from the bike and reached for Tiffany’s hand, helping her to her feet. Already an old pro, she whipped off her helmet and swung her hair from side to side. Dylan saw her doing this in slow motion, her long blond hair swinging sexily from side to side, then falling down her back in gentle waves.
She tucked her helmet under her arm and gave him a funny look. “Why do you always look at me like that when I take off my helmet?”
He smiled and kissed her cheek. “Babe, you don’t want to know.”
“You’re so weird. So, this is where you grew up?” She shielded her eyes from the sun, gazing up at the three-story home. Her eyes skimmed over the deep, white front porch and double wood doors, to the green shingles on the second story, and finally landed on the circle-head window in the dormer. “Is that a room in the attic, or just for decoration?”
“It’s a room. It was Carson’s bedroom.”
They made their way up the sidewalk and mounted the brick steps to the porch. Dylan noticed the columns needed a fresh coat of paint and made a mental note to take care of that before the weather got too cold. They all pitched in to help their mother keep up the place.
“Are you nervous about me meeting your mom?” Tiffany asked.
“A little.” He gathered her close, maneuvering around their helmets. “She hasn’t met a girlfriend of mine in years. When I told her I was bringing you, she said she’d wondered when I’d stop—and I quote—‘dinking’ around.”
Tiffany laughed. “‘Dinking’? Does that mean what I think it means?”
“No. My mother doesn’t talk dirty. I think it means wasting time.”
“If you say so.Dinkingsounds dirty to me.” She leaned forward, and he met her in a delicious kiss.
The front door opened and they pulled apart quickly, like teenagers caught making out. His mother’s bright hazel eyes smiled back at them. Her short, dark auburn hair was slightly tousled, like usual, and she wore a pair of jeans and an olive-green sweater with the jade necklace Dylan had given her last Christmas.
“I thought I heard people out here.” She pushed open the screen door and waved her hands. “Don’t stop on my account. Someone around here should get some smooches.”
“Hi, Mom.” Dylan hugged her and kissed her cheek. With a hand on Tiffany’s back, he said, “This is Tiffany. Tiffany, this is my mom, Jackie.”
His mother opened her arms and drew her into a warm embrace. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you.”
“And you as well, thank you.”
Tiffany was looking at his mother with such a warm and endearing smile, and when it faltered, Dylan wondered if she was thinking about her own mother. He’d been wrapped up in worrying about the emotions seeing the pictures of Lorelei might bring, when he should have thought to ask Tiffany howshefelt about this morning’s visit. He held her a little tighter and vowed to be more in tune to her needs.
“Come inside,” his mother said. “You can tell me what lies my son has been spreading about me.”
Tiffany smiled at him and mouthed,I love her!
He winked to keep himself from mouthing,And I love you.
The house had a small foyer that led to a narrow hallway with a steep wooden staircase. As they passed the stairs, Dylan’s mind reeled back to his younger years. He heard the sounds of him and his brothers racing across the hardwood floors and up the narrow staircase to the landing, then howling as they slid down the banister while their mother chastised them. Looking back, he wondered how she’d kept her sanity with four wild banshees under her roof.Five for several years, he thought with a pang of sadness.
They went to the living room, which hadn’t changed much in the past decade. The nearly floor-to-ceiling windows were accentuated with floral curtains. Plants billowed out from iron and ceramic planters by the windows, and verdant leaves with bright flowers hung from the ceiling, pretty wisps of leaves draped to the plants below. Between the two windows, the mantel was home to a long rectangular planter with ivy snaking its way down the sides of the intricate marble, twining with the leafy plants on the floor like joined fingers.
Tiffany walked past his mother’s favorite reading chair—the flowered one with cushions that were molded to her body—and the comfortable wine-colored sofa Dylan had fallen asleep on too many times to count, making a beeline for the plants. “These aregorgeous.” She bent to smell the flowers. “How do you keep up with them?”
“Oh, honey.” His mother waved a hand as if it were no big deal, but he knew better. She had always loved gardening. Every room boasted lush greenery in planters of varying heights covering the bottom half of the windows, and a multitude of vases. They’d multiplied in the years since they’d lost Lorelei and had taken over even more after their father moved out.
“If you grow and cultivate them instead of picking them, they’ll flourish,” his mother explained. “And when you lose a bud, well, they’re never really gone. They feed the soil, helping the others stay alive.”
“Do you think you could teach me the basics?” Tiffany asked so sweetly, so tentatively, it made Dylan’s heart hurt.
Had she heard the same family correlation in his mother’s comment as he had? Was she missing her mother? Or was he looking for things that weren’t there again?
“I’d be happy to,” his mother said, and led Tiffany out of the living room.
