“Okay . . . I’m going to do it, then.” He walks to the door, and I swear there’s an extra skip in his step. “I’ll be right back. I just need to let Margie know that I’m taking the rest of the week off.”
“Good for you.” I sound like a cheerleader at a football game, but who cares. I know for him that this decision is like crossing the goal line for a touchdown with three defenders hanging on him.
I turn back to my task, feeling a strange satisfaction. It’s been coming a lot lately. With Mrs. Cox and Victoria. Now with Ralph.
Doreen talks a lot about being “called” to this or that ministry, like it’s somehow beyond her control.
I’m starting to wonder if that’s another side effect of being at Grace Community, because I feel it, too. This sense of purpose and duty that goes beyond just wanting to get my own life under control.
January’s Calling—to help the wounded and brokenhearted.
I scoff at the absurdity and slide another Bible onto the shelf.
seventeen
I slam my car door and drag my exhausted body to my cabin. I swear I probably burned ten thousand calories running up and down those stairs today, trying to keep up with all the information Ralph was throwing at me. Not that I have a reason to care about losing weight anymore. Apart from a quick “Hi, how are you doing?” in the hall, Cameron has shown no interest whatsoever in setting up another date. Either he’s been as busy as I am or I’m completely off his radar now that he has purpose again.
My foot hits the first step when I notice my front door is wide open. Weird.
I search for the Kyles’ white truck, which is nowhere to be seen, and my eye catches a long trail of blood droplets. They zag up the stairs, over the threshold, and into my living room, which thankfully has hardwood flooring. I set my purse on the rocking chair and pull out my phone, ready to call for backup.
“Hello?” I call while approaching the doorway. “You should know I’ve already dialed 911, so if you plan to hurt me, your DNA is all over my front porch.” I poke my head inside, and it doesn’t take long to spot the culprit or reason for all the blood. Dillon is hunched over my kitchen sink, his body contorted as he tries to get his right elbow under the stream of water.
I rush over and drop my phone on the counter when I see the two-and-a-half-inch gash in his arm. “What did you do?”
“Caught a nail.” He pulls several paper towels from the roll and presses one to the wound. “It’s not that deep. I just need to get the bleeding to stop enough to close it.”
“With what?” I stare at the floor, the contents of the farthest junk drawer scattered everywhere. “Pens and batteries?”
He crouches down and picks up a bottle. “Superglue.”
“Superglue! On your arm?” The man must have lost a lot of blood.
“Stings like the devil, but it works.” He twists his injured elbow and attempts to reach the cut with his left hand. “I just . . . can’t seem . . . to get to it.” He gives up when blood gushes again and then presses the towel harder. “A little help might be nice.”
“I’ll drive you to the hospital, but I’m not supergluing your cut.” I make a face when I look closer at the wound. “You probably need stiches.”
“I don’t.” He leans his hip against the counter, his bicep flexing as he readjusts the towel. “Trust me, this isn’t my first rodeo with an injury. I nearly lost a finger last year.”
I feel an uncomfortable twist in my stomach as my eyes travel from his arms to his chest. He’s in a T-shirt today. A thin one that looks a size too small. Annoyed, I drop to the floor and begin picking up the junk drawer remnants. “As encouraging as that little tidbit is, I’m still not shoving superglue into your bleeding flesh.”
“Fine. Will you at least find the first-aid kit, then? It’s not in the bathroom where it’s supposed to be.”
“That’s because I moved it.”
“Why?”
“To make room for my toiletries. That bathroom is small enough without it being a storage room.” I stand and cross my arms. “I do live here, not that you seem to recognize that.”
“Hey, you’re the one who told me to get a set of keys.”
“I know I did.” I mash my lips together, and just when I come up with a jarring comeback, I spot the wilting daisies on my table and all the frustration dissolves. For some reason, I like seeing traces of Dillon in the cabin. It makes the space feel less lonely. “Come on. I put it in my bedroom.”
Dillon seems apprehensive but follows me into the room. It’s one of my favorite spaces. Bright white walls, a large king bed with a floral print duvet cover, and an old white antique dresser. I open the closet, push aside a few shoeboxes, and grab the kit.
Dillon is still standing by the doorway as if the floor might swallow him up. I guess I understand. I’d feel weird walking into Dillon’s bedroom, too. The thought brings another round of pesky butterflies, and I no longer want to do this in here. “We should probably go back to the kitchen. I don’t want your blood to stain my comforter.”
He backs up, letting me pass by him. “How very kind of you. I take it nursing isn’t on your long list of professions.”
“Actually, I did try being a nurse’s aide once. I lasted a week.” I pull out two dining chairs and have them face each other. “Now sit, before I show you why they frowned at my bedside manner.” I pat the wood seat and Dillon chuckles. I like how I always seem to make him laugh, even when I’m not trying to.
As soon as we’re positioned, I slowly remove the stained towel from his arm. He’s right. The cut is messy and long but not terribly deep. The kit has antibiotic cream, Q-tips, gauze, and what do you know . . . skin adhesive.
He sees it at the same time I do. “I told you. Superglue. Only they charge more for this one.”
“Because it’s designed for skin, not plastic.”
I tug his arm closer and make the first sweep of cream. He doesn’t move, not even to flinch, when I know it must hurt. Instead, he watches me, intently, and it makes my hands start to shake. I finish the cream and wipe away the excess with sterile gauze.
“A Band-Aid isn’t going to be enough,” he says when I hesitate.
“I know. I’ve just never used Dermabond before.”
“Close the wound and apply. It’s real simple.” His voice is calm enough to make me believe him. I grab the small capsule, crush the ampoule, and carefully brush it over the line I formed by pinching his skin.
“So how did your date go this weekend?”
I freeze for a millisecond, then continue, knowing he purposely waited until I was stuck before asking me. “It wasn’t a date. We just hung out with some of his friends.”
“Maybe that’s what it ended up being, but you certainly dressed up as if you were going on a date.”
I glance up and meet his gaze. “Do you want me to do this or not?”
“Do you always shy away from tough conversations, or is it just with me?”
I think of Doreen and scowl. Okay, so maybe I do skirt hard topics, but not everyone likes conflict. Some of us prefer avoidance. Hence the continued silence with my mom, and my fabulous ability to change the subject. “You and Cameron seem pretty tight. How do you two know each other?”
He grins like he’s caught on to exactly what I’m doing, but answers anyway. “We grew up together. Went to the same church since kindergarten, same high school, hung in the same circles. I’m a year older, but Grace Community was small back then, so we all ended up being combined.”
I want to ask about his ex-wife, if she was also in those circles, but decide against it. “He mentioned they hadn’t seen you in a while. How come?”
Dillon’s mouth tightens, but unlike me he doesn’t redirect the question. “I see no point in living a lie. Church isn’t really where I want to be right now, and since we were all raised to hold each other accountable, I know they’d spend the whole night trying to get me to come back before I’m ready.”
S
ilence fills the space, and I gently blow against the adhesive to make sure it’s dry. He flinches then, and goose bumps appear across his skin. I look up, confused. “Did I hurt you?”
“No.” He clears his throat. “I think the Dermabond is set by now.”
I ease my fingers away, half expecting the skin to pop back open. It doesn’t, and now the bloody mess is simply a long, thin red line. “All better.”
He rises from the chair and gathers the trash. “Thanks. I’ll grab a mop.”
I watch him work, moving around the cabin as if he’d once lived here. “Is Doreen your company’s only client?”
Dillon pauses by the broom closet, and his eyebrows squish together. I’m learning that he does that every time I say something he thinks is crazy.
“I just ask because you’re always here,” I explain.
“I like it here, and while Doreen is certainly not our only client, she is our favorite one.” He pulls a mop and bucket from the recesses of the space. “We actually have offices in Waxahachie, Ennis, Corsicana, and Mansfield.”
“Oh. That is big.”
He does his chuckle-snort thing. “Yeah. Big enough that both my dad and I have the luxury of choosing our projects. This place is mine.” He props the bucket under the faucet. “I’ve worked at B&L Ranch since the day Doreen decided to make it a wedding venue. I designed this cabin for my senior project and started construction right after graduation.”
“So you’re the one to blame for my not having a tub.”
He cuts off the water and glances behind him. “There’s only so much you can do when given a maximum of eight hundred square feet.”
“Yeah, yeah. Just admit it. You’re a man so it never crossed your mind.”
He carefully sets the bucket on the floor and glances up at me through his eyelashes. “I admit it. I saw absolutely no need to put one in here.” His grin is daring and alarmingly handsome.
“Knew it,” I say, though it’s hard to do so. Once again, Dillon Kyle has hit me with an entirely new perspective and left me scrambling for unshakable ground. “Wow. An architect.”
“Yep, with a minor in landscaping.” He straightens and crosses his arms. “What did you think I did for a living?”
“I don’t know. I never thought much about it.” I just always took it for granted that he was the one out here watering the plants, trimming trees, fixing . . . whatever.
“That’s flattering.”
“I didn’t mean it like I don’t care. I just figured you and your dad mostly did work for my aunt is all.” He raises his eyebrow, and I feel my cheeks flush. “Here, I’ll do that. You get the sink and countertops.”
He sets the mophead in the water and offers the handle to me. The minute I grab hold, he pulls it back, forcing me to stumble closer.
Our faces are only a foot apart, much like they were in the bathroom when I noticed his eyes. The same eyes that have me captivated even now.
“You can’t truly know someone from a distance, January. Every one of us has our own set of secrets and demons and quirks. You just have to decide if it’s worth taking the time to learn them. And if you’re willing to let someone close enough to learn yours.”
His unyielding gaze makes my chest feel like bursting. There’s too much context in his statement, like he’s asking me for something I’m not ready to give.
When I remain silent, he lets go of the handle and returns to the sink. I study the sudsy water and watch the swirls of soap until my phone buzzes on the counter.
Dillon gets to it before I do and hands it to me. “Looks like it was a date after all.”
I glance down, and my heart triples its speed.
Cameron.
I drop the mop and answer before you can say spit shine. “Hey. I’m so glad you called.”
“Yeah? Is this an okay time?”
“It’s perfect.”
Dillon waves me away as if I’m an annoyance and picks up the abandoned mop. I go for an evil eye stare, but I’m pretty sure it fails because he just shakes his head and chuckles under his breath. I’m starting to wonder if that particular response of his has a deeper meaning, yet I can’t think about that right now.
Cameron clears his throat. “So, the rumor mill has been buzzing today about Ralph. You prepared to fly solo already?”
“It’s only sort of solo. Eric’s picking up most of the work,” I say, excusing myself to the porch and shutting the door behind me. “Ralph’s showing me how to run the breakfast in the morning and then taking off.”
“I guess that means you won’t be working in the band room for a while.”
I cover the mouthpiece and blow out a relieved breath. He sounds disappointed. “Probably not. I’ve been running around like a madwoman just trying to write down a third of what Ralph does, let alone do it for him.”
“When does he get back?”
“Not sure. He said it depended on the amount of time off Victoria could swing.”
“Well, that stinks. Work is far better when you’re around to distract me.”
“Yeah?” I sit, grinning and twisting my hair. “In that case, I’m sure I can find a moment or two to come bother you.”
“I’d like that, and . . . if you’re free next Friday, maybe we can even try hanging out without Margie spying on us.”
I silently kick my feet back and forth and thank karma again for this beautiful man. “Won’t your roommates do the same thing?”
“Nope. As luck has it, they’re both going to a concert that night in Dallas.”
“What about the rest of the crew?” My question feels bold, but no way am I doing another group date. Not until I know where we stand.
“Actually, I was thinking just you and me this time.” His voice hitches a little, and it comes off like he’s nervous I’ll say no. It’s so cute I want to stand in my chair and dance.
“Sounds perfect.”
I hear a faint exhale and nearly smack myself for second-guessing things. Cameron isn’t like other men. I keep forgetting that.
“So it’s a date?”
“It’s a date.”
“Good.” He pauses, and I hear voices in the background. “Well, I better . . . uh, get back to the guys. See you tomorrow at work?”
“I’ll be there.”
“Bye, Jan.”
I stand, the ground feeling suspiciously like cloud nine, or ninety-nine, or nine hundred ninety-nine. Whatever combination works. I’m so euphoric when I walk back into my cabin that I slip on the wet floor, my feet going two different directions while my phone crashes and slides under the couch.
“It’s wet. Be careful.”
I’m halfway into the split position when my foot stops moving. “Thanks. You’re extremely helpful.” Hopefully, Dillon speaks sarcasm because it’s oozing from me. I rock back and forth trying to keep from toppling over. “You know, I didn’t just stand there and watch when you were bleeding all over my sink.”
He strolls into the living room, clasps his hands around my elbows, and lifts me back on my feet. It’s effortless, like I’m nothing more than a speck of dust. “Happy?”
Oh yeah, he knows sarcasm.
“Yes, actually I am.” I consider sticking out my tongue but don’t. There comes an age when it’s no longer cute, and I think I crossed that threshold years ago.
“Everything’s blood-free again, so I’m out.” He lets go and tugs open the door, not forcefully but definitely with a little attitude. I’m not sure what I did to upset him, but his mood has certainly plummeted. “Don’t forget there’s a big group here this weekend. You may want to bunk with Doreen a couple of nights.”
I tilt my head. “Are you worried about me?”
“A single girl out here alone, yeah. I think you need to take precautions.”
“Okay. I will.”
His forehead wrinkles like he’s surprised I’m not going to argue with him. I guess that’s fair. We do spend most of our time arguing. “Alright. Well, I’ll see ya
around.” He steps outside, and for some reason it bothers me that he’s once again leaving frustrated. I don’t want there to always be contention between us.
“Hey, Dillon?” I call. He stops and turns, his eyes meeting mine. They seem sad. “Thank you for the daisies. They made me happy.”
Some of his weariness falls away, and I’m granted a rare authentic smile. One not steeped in additional context. “You’re welcome.”
eighteen
The sky is still dark when I step outside Tuesday morning, and for the fifth time I wonder what I was thinking when I encouraged Ralph to go on vacation.
“You were thinking about Victoria,” I say out loud, chastising my selfishness. Ralph has been doing this job for years without a break. I can handle a small portion for a few weeks. I hurry down the steps and into my car, my breath a white vapor against the cold morning air. The coffee I drank isn’t working, and I yawn hard enough to force an eye shut as I start the engine.
Carefully, I ease my way out of the parking lot and slow to a crawl when I exit the property. I hate driving this road in the dark. Even more frustrating is that I know there’s a wide two-lane road that leads from the main highway into my mom’s property and continues all the way to Doreen’s side, but Mom had it barricaded after the funeral. A decision made solely out of spite.
I sigh and flick on my brights. I nearly broke down and called her last night, but ended up going to bed instead. If she did answer the phone, I’d have to come up with something to tell her about my job. And admitting to my mom that I’m now working at a church would take a measure of courage I haven’t quite mustered.
The main highway finally appears, and twenty minutes later I’m pulling up in front of the downtown building where breakfast is served.
It’s six-thirty in the morning, so the streets are barren, as is the parking lot minus Ralph’s truck and three other vehicles. He steps out of the driver’s side after I park and gives me a small wave. He’s dressed in jogging pants, a light jacket, and tennis shoes. Not exactly breakfast-serving attire.
Love and a Little White Lie Page 11
