“Hello, it’s me,” I call through the screen door. Aunt Doreen has all the blinds and windows open, and the smell of brisket fills the house. I move through the kitchen, the living room, and then spot the crew on the back porch. Well, not the whole crew, just Doreen and Dillon. Uncle Jim and Mr. Kyle must be out by the smoker.
For some reason, my pulse jumps when Dillon turns and offers me a half smile. He looks so different I nearly stop mid-step. Gone are the old ratty jeans and stained T-shirts. His hair is styled, his face freshly shaven, and he’s wearing a thin gray long-sleeved shirt tucked into dark jeans.
“Good. You’re here.” Doreen claps her hands together and stands. She pulls me into a hug as soon as I clear the doorway and keeps her arm around me as she turns us toward Dillon. “I’m assuming you two can play nice for a day?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, and maybe it’s the cowboy boots he’s wearing, but I swear his accent got thicker overnight. “Our interactions have only drawn blood once.”
I can tell he’s teasing me, but I don’t respond or smile. It’s too easy now to see the sadness through his wit and the layer of grief through the brooding set of his jaw.
Doreen studies me closer. “You okay, hun?”
“Yeah. Just tired, I guess.”
“Did that rehearsal dinner party keep you up last night?”
I shake my head and keep my eyes from straying back to Dillon. “No, they were either out or in bed when I got home. Lots of activity this morning, though.”
“Yes. I’m going to head up there in a little while and make sure they have everything they need.” She pats my arm and then releases her grip. I want the pressure back, just like I want to beg her not to leave me alone with Dillon. She obviously hasn’t developed telepathy because she makes some comment about the potato salad and scurries into the house.
I stand there, jacket still clutched in my hand, and have no choice but to interact with the only other person on the porch. “Pretty weather today,” I say and sit where my aunt just vacated.
Dillon’s forehead wrinkles. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re acting weird.”
“No, I’m not.” I ball my jacket in my lap and try to stop the frustration creeping up my cheeks.
“Yes, you are.” He scoots to the edge of the chair, and his inquiring gaze makes me start to sweat. “Pretty weather? Really? I give you a perfect zingy opening and you throw out that generic response?”
The frustration wins. “Forgive me if I don’t keep a script that’s been blessed by your superior conversation skills.”
He points at me and relaxes back in his chair. “Much better.”
My skin is tingling, and my heart is racing with growing fury. “Did you ever consider that maybe I was trying to be nice to you for once?”
“I don’t want nice. I want real.” The intensity in his tone shuts me down.
I have no road map with him. Thanks to my mom’s stellar training, I’m usually good at controlling the tone of a room or conversation, especially with men. But Dillon makes everything so much more difficult than it needs to be. I study my fingernails, noting every split and cuticle.
“You’re doing it again,” he says.
“Doing what?” I look up and am again pressed with that need to comfort him, or understand him, I don’t know, but it’s unnerving and I don’t like the feeling.
“I don’t know how to explain it; you’re just different with me today. Why?”
I hug my jacket to my chest like a teddy bear and decide to just go ahead and tell him. It’s not like I’m having any luck with subtlety. “I heard about your mom. I’m sorry, Dillon. I didn’t know.”
He must not have been expecting that response because his head lowers and all that comes out is “Oh.”
I don’t say anything because I have no idea how to comfort someone who’s grieving. Sure, I miss my pawpaw, but it’s not even close to the same as losing a parent, especially one so young.
“You know that’s what today is all about. Doreen and Jim didn’t want us to be alone.” His tone eases, as if the pain from the gut punch I delivered is starting to subside. “Like a sunny day and barbecue will suddenly make us forget it’s been a whole year.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t say that.” His jaw tightens. “I hate it when people say that.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know. Maybe . . . that it sucks. Or that no one should have to bury their mom before they turn thirty and then watch their father completely fall apart days later.” He cradles his head and holds it long enough to make my throat constrict. I want to move closer, to comfort him somehow, but the anger he’s emoting is too great a shield. Finally, he slides his hands through his hair and looks up at me, his eyes red and apologetic. “Now I should be the one saying I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not. None of this anger is for you.” He cracks his neck to the left and right. “It’s just this day. This horrible day that cannot pass quick enough.”
I remain quiet and he sighs. “I liked it better when you didn’t know. It was nice engaging with someone who didn’t pity me.” His voice goes soft, and I see a glimpse of his pain once again. It’s rare; he’s learned to hide it nearly as well as I have. “Let me guess, Doreen wanted to prepare you for my crazy today.”
“No. Darcy mentioned it in passing. I think she assumed I knew.”
“Ah yes, the Grace Community grapevine is alive and well.” His bitterness when he mentions the church puts me on the defensive for some reason. I know it’s weird because I’m not even a member and have only worked there a little while, but in that time I’ve seen the heart that beats in those halls.
“It wasn’t like that at all. I’m the one who brought up your name.”
“Yeah?” That makes his eyebrow go up, and his sadness gives way to the impish grin that makes my cheeks heat. “And why is that?”
“She’s fundraising for a mission trip. You were bragging about being independently wealthy, so I mentioned you.”
“I wasn’t bragging.”
“No, of course not. That would be so unlike you.” My eye roll makes him smile, which is a nice change from his earlier mood. While I’m not so good at the heavy emotional thing, I am really good at dispelling tension, and I can see that Dillon needs it badly. Unfortunately, my kindness backfires as he turns his focus to me.
“You’ve settled right in there, I see. Dating Cam, becoming best friends with Darcy.”
“We’re not best friends.”
“But you are dating Cameron.” The way he says it, like I’ve somehow answered a question for him, makes my hands tingle. He relaxes in the chair and even puts his feet up on the ottoman. “Kind of risky, don’t you think?” He doesn’t have to expand that thought for me to know that he’s referring to my agnosticism. Apparently, I have no secrets from this guy.
A chill slides through the screen behind me, and I take a moment to put my jacket on. Dillon’s stare doesn’t falter. He wants—no, is demanding—an answer that I’m not prepared to give. I ignore him and turn my head to find something, anything to focus on outside. Two squirrels spiral around Doreen’s oak tree, and I hear Uncle Jim’s laughter coming from the smokehouse.
“I have to be honest; I don’t really see the two of you together.”
That gets my attention, as was his intent I’m sure. “Why not?”
He shrugs. “Cam’s lived a pretty sheltered life. You haven’t.”
I don’t even bother arguing, because he’s right. Our lives up to this point have been distinctly different, but that doesn’t mean we’re not a fit. “So what? I’ve dated plenty of guys just like me and they didn’t have an ounce of Cameron’s character.”
“I don’t doubt that in the least. Cam’s a great catch.”
“And I’m not?”
“I didn’t say that.” He actually looks def
ensive.
“Then what are you saying?” Because somehow I’m the one who now wants to bury my head and start bawling. Maybe it’s guilt—or worse, recognition that I’m holding on to something I don’t deserve. Either way, I can’t stomach Dillon’s perusal.
“I’m saying you need to tell him you don’t share his faith. Cam doesn’t date casually, so if this thing is progressing, it means he’s all in. And there’s nothing more painful than thinking you know someone, sharing your life with them, and then finding out it’s a lie.” The hurt in his voice is so real I can feel it settle under my skin, past my defenses, and into the aching part of my heart.
We’re no longer talking about my relationship, but his, and the guilt I felt earlier changes to something deeper and impossible to ignore. Cameron’s word choices last night feel heavy on my shoulders. I press my lips together and debate whether or not to expose something so personal to a man who seems to keep zero boundaries. Then again, my only other option is Doreen, and since I gave her my word I’d tell Cameron and didn’t follow through, I’m not stepping anywhere near that one. “Can I ask you a question and you be perfectly honest with me?”
“Always.”
“No laughing at me, either.”
His lips start to turn upward. “Okay.”
“What does it mean in Christian circles when a guy wants to pursue a relationship and take it to the ‘next phase’?”
Turns out Dillon is a liar as well, because he can barely contain his amusement. “You mean you got the speech?”
“What speech?”
“The one every student was taught to give when we were in youth group.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Yes, that’s obvious.”
“Dillon.” I throw a pillow at him, and it releases the last bit of control he has. Laughter spills into the room, and I can’t help but join him, even though I’m fuming.
“I’m sorry.” He clears his throat. “I’ll translate. Basically, Cam was asking to see if you were ready to pursue the kind of dating relationship where marriage is the end goal.”
I nearly swallow my tongue. “You’re messing with me.”
He puts up his hands. “I wish I was.”
I press my fingers to my temples and will the ache in my head to go away. “It’s way too fast.”
He cocks his head to the side. “Why? Because you’re still in love with your ex?”
“No,” I say loudly enough to make him flinch, and I drop my hands. “Because it’s only been a few weeks and it was supposed to be easy and fun.”
“You mean Cam was just supposed to be a rebound guy.”
“No,” I say again, but I don’t have any counter to his accusation.
Dillon slides his feet from the ottoman and stands. “Call it what you want. Either way, you need to tell him why you’re here. You owe him at least that much.” He heads for the outside door and lets it slam behind him.
I want to chase him down in the yard, tackle him, and beat him up until he cries uncle. But I don’t. Instead, I just sit here and wonder how the heck things got so screwed up.
twenty-three
Still pouting?”
I glance over my shoulder to find Dillon coming toward me and turn back around to watch the pool water glisten in the sun. It’s been thirty minutes since our last sparring match and I still haven’t quite recovered.
My feet press into the decking, and the swing I’m sitting on moves back and forth. It’s one of those freestanding love-seat types that must be new because I’ve never seen it before.
Dillon sits down next to me, the swing jerking to a stop under his weight.
“You obviously don’t know how to take a hint,” I say while scooting as far away as possible.
“You’d really ignore me? Today of all days?”
My mouth hangs open as he waits for my rebuttal. I have none. I can’t be rude or snub him, not after he played the Mom card. “Okay, we’ll call a truce. But no more inquiries about Cameron.”
“Nope. Too one-sided.”
“How do you figure?”
“I don’t get anything out of it.” When I huff in disbelief, he twists in the seat to face me. “What? You think your company alone is worth my handing over my ace?”
Oh. My. Word. This man is the most infuriating person on the planet. “Need I remind you that you’re the one who approached me?”
His eyes sparkle with challenge. “Just to begin negotiations. Not to fold.”
“Fine,” I say through gritted teeth. “What is it you’d like?”
“I need a spades partner.”
His answer is so unexpected that I’m sure I heard him wrong. “You want me to play cards with you?”
“Yep. Doreen says you’re ruthless, and my dad and Jim have been talking smack for the last twenty minutes.”
“So get Doreen to be your partner. She’s far more ruthless than I am.” I lean close and whisper, “One summer, my cousin Isaiah and I were fifty points from winning and she bribed him with no chores for two days. That cheat handed her the game. Jim wouldn’t stand a chance.”
Dillon laughs, and I admit it feels good to be the one to get a smile out of him, especially considering our earlier chat. “Well, as appealing as it sounds to play cards with three senior adults, I’m afraid Doreen’s out of the running. She’s headed up to B&L to check on the wedding.”
“It’s a mile away; she’ll be back in twenty minutes.”
He laces his arm through mine and pulls me to standing. “Which is just enough time for you and me to school the old guys.”
I reluctantly concede. “If we win, you have to serve me dinner and do the dishes.”
He shakes his head and chuckles.
I quit walking. “Why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“I’ll say something and you just shake your head and snicker. Why?”
“Maybe I find you funny?”
“No. I thought that at first, but now I know better.” My eyes narrow on his face, looking for any clue.
He takes my arm and pulls me along again. “Tell you what. We win and I’ll tell you what I’m thinking.”
“As you’re serving me dinner,” I remind him.
“Just come on.”
We’re both smiling by the time we join his dad and Uncle Jim at the patio table.
“Calling in the big dogs, I see.” Jim shuffles the cards and does a fancy bridge, trying to intimidate us both. It won’t work. I know his moves too well by now.
“Ruff, ruff.” I pop my knuckles and wink at my partner across the table. “Now deal the cards.”
Mr. Kyle bellows a laugh, and I see the way it makes Dillon go soft, like the sound is worth enduring this day with his father’s best friend. I find myself going soft, too. I’m sure there’s a thousand places Dillon would rather be, and yet he’s here, side by side with the only family he has left.
We don’t win. Not a single game. But I’m not too upset about it, especially since each win seemed to bring Mr. Kyle more and more joy. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that Dillon threw the games on purpose, which ironically makes me respect him far more than I ever did my cousin.
I grab my keys from my purse and walk to the patio to say my final goodbyes. The sun set an hour ago, and Aunt Doreen has the fire pit blazing full blast.
“Well, I’m going to head home,” I say, approaching the group. I lean down and hug Doreen. “Thanks for the food. It was so good, I don’t think I’ll be able to eat for a week.”
“Did you take some leftovers?”
“I did. I’ll grab them on my way out.” I turn from my aunt to the men and give my best intimidating scowl. “As for you guys, expect a rematch, and this time I’ll have a better partner.”
“Hey. That wasn’t all on me. You’re the one who can’t cover,” Dillon says, feigning hurt. I can tell he’s playing it up, and his dad loves every minute of our banter.
“Says the guy who goes nil wi
th a queen and king of spades.” I roll my eyes and quickly hug my uncle. “Give the man some training, please.”
Jim pats my back. “You’re a pretty good, kid, you know that?” His voice is quiet enough that only I hear him, but it still fills me with pride. Jim does not give out idle compliments.
“Thanks. I’ll see you in a few days.” I step toward the door with a wave, and Dillon springs to his feet.
“I’ll walk you to your car,” he says.
“You don’t ne—”
His hand is already on my back, pushing me past the threshold, so there’s really no room for protest. One important lesson I’ve learned about Dillon Kyle is that there is no changing his mind once it’s set.
He doesn’t say a word until we reach my car. “I wanted to thank you for today.” He leans with his left hand against the roof, his right one holding my container of leftovers. “You were a good sport, and it’s been a long time since I’ve seen my dad this relaxed and happy.”
“You’re welcome, although I’m not sure your appreciation is warranted. I wasn’t faking having a good time. Jim, Doreen, and your dad are fun to hang out with.”
He smirks. “Did you leave me out of that list on purpose?”
“Yes,” I say, though it’s not true at all. Dillon with his guard down is actually a pretty amazing person—lighthearted, sarcastic, even a little funny.
“You know I can tell when you’re lying, right?”
I cross my arms. “Maybe you only think you can tell. Maybe you don’t know me nearly as well as you claim to. And maybe it’s the other way around, and I’m the one who’s got your number.” I lift my brows in stubborn challenge, yet I’m having a hard time not smiling.
“Maybe you do,” he answers with a little too much seriousness, and the air between us shifts just like it always seems to when we move past the banter and into territory that’s best left unexplored.
I swallow. “I really better go.”
He nods and opens the door for me, handing me the container once I’m settled in my seat. “Text your aunt and let us know you got back safely. You know how I feel about you being there after dark with all those strangers around.”
Love and a Little White Lie Page 15
