Page 24

Chapter Twenty-Three

Scarlett

I am so nervous approaching Dylan in his backyard, my senses practically tweaking they’re on such high alert. I am extra aware of everything—the breeze against my skin, blowing my hair across my face and nudging the bare tree branches against each other, rustling and swaying and hopefully masking my approach. There’s a crisp sort of smell in the air that carries the faint hint of winter, and a crunch beneath my feet as I step off the deck onto the wide expanse of lawn that intersects our yard with the Brauns'. Dylan senses me approaching, though.

Of course he does.

“ Jesus Fuck. ” Clearly as happy to see me as I expected.

“Hey… I’m sorry for invading your privacy.”

“Then don’t.”

I’m quiet for a few seconds. The silence is… tense. More than that—it’s heavy.

“I wanted to apologize… for practically launching myself on your bed up there. It was probably weird.”

I’m trying to stack his defenses and insecurities onto my own plate and lighten the load for him right now, since I’m bringing up something he’d probably rather ignore. I don’t know what other excuse to give for following him out here, other than apologizing for making him uncomfortable.

He shifts, trailing his left hand along the step, halting once his palm covers the knife.

So stealth, Dylan Braun.

“Wasn’t weird,” he scoffs, discreetly pocketing the knife.

“Maybe. But it was still infringing on your personal space.” I focus on the waves rolling in at the foot of the yard. “It’s that stupid Sleepwalker comic. It’s been five days since I read the fifth issue—my only focus was sprawling out and diving in.”

“It’s fine.”

There’s another long silence. Longer than the last one, but not quite as heavy.

“I’ve never had a guy on my bed, so I get it,” I say softly. But still, out loud… because apparently I’m suddenly willing to divulge personal details about my life to Dylan, if I think it will make him feel less embarrassed.

Only now, I feel uncomfortable. Even more so when Dylan hits back with this gem: “Yeah? You and Gavin more of a back-seat-of-the-car kind of deal?”

Dylan's social skills may suck, but he gets an A-plus every time when it comes to being an asshole. And yes, I get why he does it—that it’s one of his go-to defense mechanisms. A key piece of his crudely assembled arsenal. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less when I’m the target. Especially because I am not the sort of person who divulges this kind of personal stuff to other people, the way I just did. Maybe with Seb, but that’s about it.

“You don’t know anything about my relationship with Gavin,” I tell Dylan.

“Pretty sure I know enough,” he drawls, lobbing another swift hit at my pride. And he's right. He knows more than anyone else. That I tell my boyfriend lies to get out of having to actually hang out with him.

“Whatever, Dylan,” I sigh. “You can keep being a dick if it makes you feel better. But for what it’s worth, you already succeeded in making me feel like crap.” I glance at him, and our eyes meet. “Also, that was something I’ve never told anybody else before, so congratulations—you win.”

Yes, I’m a fool, because I still decide to go for honesty, even knowing Dylan may well use it against me. But I did just march out here and trample all over his personal space; it’s only fair I let him know I just relinquished a sliver of my own. If he even cares.

Not that it should matter. My goal right now is to keep him from hurting himself—not to ask him to go easy on me. I’m a big girl. I can handle whatever hurtful comments he keeps flinging my way, if it means he’ll head back into his house half an hour from now without any fresh scars.

He’s rolling his lower lip between his teeth now, staring straight ahead at the copse of trees along the edge of the yard. The leaves have almost all fallen off, which means the first snowfall can’t be that far off. Another huge adjustment for Dylan—a New England winter versus the Californian ones he’s used to.

“Anyway,” I say, letting the backpack slide off my shoulder into my hand. The one I grabbed after an idea popped into my head seconds before rushing out here. “I brought something for you as a token apology gesture—for whatever I did that pissed you off.”

His gaze slides from the trees back to me. One eyebrow inches up, the corner of his bottom lip still tucked between his teeth. The same side as the hoop. He looks ridiculously sexy right now. I really wish he didn’t. It makes everything so much harder.

“So?” I mirror his one eyebrow lift. “You interested?”

“What is it?”

I roll my eyes. “Well, I’m not going to just come straight out and tell you. God. This is a peace offering… It deserves at least a little more of a ceremonious unveiling.”

“Are you… high right now?”

I can’t tell if he’s joking. “Let’s pretend you didn’t mean that as an insult.”

“I didn’t.”

It’s still not obvious if he’s serious or not.

“So?” I forge on. “Are you curious what I brought you?”

I expect him not to answer, so I’m doubly surprised when he says, “Yeah. Sure.”

“Perfect. Can I sit?”

He doesn’t respond, but he bends his legs, sliding his feet closer to his body to leave room for me to lower myself onto the steps. Having learned my lesson about giving him ample personal space, I settle onto the lowest one, two down from the one he’s stretched out on.

“Before the big reveal,” I tell him, setting the backpack down between my feet, “you need to know this is something I’ve never given anyone else before. So this is kind of a big deal.”

He leans forward to peer over my lap at the still closed backpack.

“Also, in case you try to tell me it’s lame, you should know I stole these for you. So this is basically contraband. That’s got to count for something, at least.”

He’s eyeing me now, like he’s worried about my mental health. Honestly, his instincts might not be too far off base.

I unzip the backpack and pull out a half-filled sealed plastic bag. “For you,” I proclaim, opening the bag and holding it out towards him. “My mother’s homemade rosemary and pine nut muffins.”

His lips curl into a confused expression. “What the fuck?”

“I know. That was my reaction, too.”

“Are those the same muffins she offered me a couple weeks ago?”

“No. That was a different batch. These have cranberry raisins in them, too. Bonus!”

When he doesn’t respond, I let out an exaggerated sigh. “Why am I getting the feeling you’re disappointed?”

“This is freakin’ weird, man.”

“I never said my peace offering wasn’t weird. I just said it was something I’ve never given anyone else before. And that wasn’t a lie. I haven’t even tried these myself before.”

His eyes stretch a little wider as he peers more closely into the bag. “Yeah, I can see why.”

“We’re trying these rosemary and pine nut muffins, Dylan Braun.” I reach in and take one. “I really hope you’re not going to make me do this alone.”

I let out a breath I wasn’t aware I was holding when he reaches in and takes one for himself—because as much as he has the ability to continually hurt my pride, he also has the ability to keep surprising me.

“Shit,” I laugh. “We’re really doing this?”

“Sure. Why not?” He shrugs.

“Can’t be worse than they look, right?”

“Technically, they could be.” His lip twitches again into that suggestion of a grin, and my stomach flips over on itself.

I never thought I’d be able to bring a smile to his lips tonight. My goal when I rushed out here was so much humbler than that. But this is way, way better.

“On the count of three,” I say. “One. Two… Three. ”

We both bite into the dense muffins, our eyes locked as we chew hesitantly.

His eyes are even more stunning when they’re dancing with that faint hint of humor. “It’s not terrible,” he says around a mouthful of muffin.

“Yeah, it is,” I laugh. “No way there’s even a teaspoon of sugar in these.”

He shrugs. “Still not bad, though.” And then he pulls his chin back with a frown. “Oh, wait. Something… crunchy.” His throat bobs as he swallows.

I laugh. “Must be one of those pesky pine nuts.”

“What the hell is a pine nut?”

“No idea.” I swallow the rest of my mouthful, then wipe my fingers on my jeans. “Crap… That was the worst peace offering ever. Total fail.”

“Wasn’t terrible,” he says again, leaning back against the side of the steps, looking almost… relaxed. Wow.

“ And! ” I hold up a finger, unable to contain my laughter now. “There’s more!”

He watches as I reach back in the bag. Still not smiling, but also not frowning.

“Flavored soda water!” I set the two cans down in front of him with a flourish. “And…” I reach back in the bag. “ Lightly flavored rice chips!” I toss the bag at him and he catches it easily.

He inspects the bag and lets out a scoff that sounds suspiciously like an honest to God laugh. “Jesus… Where does she find this shit?”

“I believe that would be the health food section of a fancy, overly-priced grocery store.”

“This stuff is expensive?”

I take the bag of rice chips from him, turning over the package until I spot the small hand-penned price tag. “She paid seven fifty for these bad boys.”

“Shit.”

“And you wonder why I’m so uptight?” I wrench the bag open. “It’s because I grew up on this crap.”

He watches me pop one of the rice chips into my mouth, then reaches over and pulls out a handful for himself. He shoves two of them into his mouth. His eyebrows lift. “These are decent.”

“They’re totally not.”

“I like ’em.”

I shove the bag back at him. “Knock yourself out. They’re all yours.”

His eyes meet mine… And then it happens.

Dylan Braun smiles at me.