by Jill Shalvis
This gave her a flash of relief and pleasure. “Now see, that’s something where you could have hit reply and emailed instead of telling me in person. Especially since we decided this was going to be business only.”
“Actually,” he said, “that was you. I haven’t decided any such thing.”
The class was filled with whispers now. Some “oohs” and “ahhs” and a teasing “teacher’s gotta pet.” One of the girls muttered, “I wouldn’t kick him out of bed for eating crackers . . .”
“Me either,” a guy said.
“Come on, Ms. Adams,” someone called out. “Give him a chance. It gives the rest of us hope.”
Tilly made a show of glancing at the clock on the wall and the students settled.
At the end of class, Dylan managed to dawdle until it was just the two of them in the room.
“Where’s Leo today?” he asked.
“My niece is watching him.” She’d hoped to avoid getting peed on at work.
He nodded. “Art’s not my strong suit,” he said showing her his rather pathetic stick figure drawing.
“I don’t get it,” she said. “I don’t get why you don’t just stay away from me. You managed to do it for all those years, so why are you having trouble doing it now?”
“That question’s above my pay grade.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Okay, fine,” he said and shrugged. “I can’t seem to help myself.”
She stared at him. “Don’t even try to tell me that after you left town without saying good-bye you pined away for me.”
“I didn’t.”
Okay, ouch.
“I’m telling you I moved you out of my heart so I could function,” he said.
She took a beat to process that. “Did you . . . ‘function’ with other women?”
He didn’t look away. Instead he held eye contact with no sign that this conversation was as uncomfortable for him as it was for her. “It’s been eight years since we were together, Tee.”
Tee. His childhood nickname for her. She knew it’d rolled off his tongue without him even thinking about it, that it didn’t mean anything, but it made her ache. “So yes, you did.”
“As did you.”
Their gazes held and bunches of unwanted and unwelcome longing and nostalgia welled up inside her, damn him. When he’d been in her life, she’d been . . . well, a mess. After her mom’s death, she’d learned she’d had a sister she hadn’t known about, Quinn, who’d willingly stepped in to be her guardian, and it’d been the most anxiety-ridden, stressful, traumatic time of her life. The only reason she’d gotten through any of it was because of Dylan. But he’d left her.
And now he was in Wildstone.
Good thing she was no longer a lost teenager in need of an anchor.
“Thanks again for the logo and branding,” he said quietly. He pulled out a check that matched the invoice she’d attached to the email.
She slipped it into her pocket. “Thanks for the work.”
“Tee—”
“I’ve got to go,” she said.
He held her gaze for a long beat, nodded, and then let her be as she’d wanted—alone.
The next day, Dylan got up before dawn, took a long, hard, fast run to try and outpace his demons.
He couldn’t.
For breakfast, he stopped at Caro’s, the café Quinn and Tilly had inherited from their mom. Quinn was in the kitchen, but not cooking. She was sitting huge belly up to a table slicing carrots.
“Still trying to make us all eat healthy?” he asked from the doorway.
She looked up and smiled. “I was hoping you’d come by and say hi. Let me look at you.” Her critical eye swept over him. “You don’t look worse for wear on the outside.” She met his gaze. “I’m assuming all the scars are on the inside?”
“Maybe I don’t have any.”
She snorted. “If that were true, you’d have been back in Wildstone a few years ago instead of taking all those skills Uncle Sam drilled into you to South America to pilot for hire.” She let her smile fade. “I knew you were coming back a few weeks ago when you emailed Mick for an attorney recommendation to write up your new partnership agreement.”
“You didn’t tell Tilly,” he said.
“I didn’t,” she said. “But make no mistake. I’m livid with you. You broke her heart and nearly destroyed her.”
“I had to go,” he said quietly. “We both know she would never have taken her scholarship, she’d have stayed here to be with me. She deserved better, Quinn, far better.”
She stared at him for a long beat and then nodded. “I figured. And I didn’t tell her you were coming back because I didn’t want to mess her all up if it turned out to not be true. I loved and adored you, still do, but my loyalty is with her, always.”
He nodded. “I get that.”
“Do you?” She struggled to her feet. “Dammit,” she said when he had to move forward and help her.
He smiled. “When’s the baby coming?”
“I’m pretty sure she’s a giraffe, not a baby,” she muttered, rubbing her belly. “Three weeks to go still, but you’re not here looking for a trip down memory lane.”
He’d worked here in high school and it’d been more home than anywhere he’d ever been. Here he’d been given food and shelter and comfort, and he’d have worked for free, but Quinn had insisted on paying him. “I don’t know if I ever thanked you for the job,” he started but Quinn shook her head.
“Don’t thank me,” she said on a fond smile. “You worked your ass off for us, and we were lucky to have you.”
A little surprised by the emotion her words—and the memories—brought, he nodded. Quinn squeezed his hand and called out to her chef. “Breakfast special, extra bacon.” She pointed to a chair. “Sit, you can eat and keep me company. When are you going to tell Tilly you’re back?”
He grimaced. “She knows. I’m taking her class. She’s not exactly thrilled.”
Tilly laughed. “Let me guess. You figured it’d be hard to murder you in broad daylight.”
He grimaced again and she shook her head, still smiling. “What you need to do is tell her the truth, Dylan. The whole truth.” She met his gaze and sighed. “Which you’re not going to do.” She tossed up her hands. “Never did meet two more stubborn people.”
Dylan smiled. “Then you should look in the mirror sometime.”
An hour later, he was in the air, taking a local winery CEO and a few of his staff for a flyover of the entire area. They were interested in purchasing more land, but wanted to see it from a bird’s view.
By the time he got back to the airport, the group was eager to book more flights as gifts to their customers for buying incentives. Dylan, Ric, and Penn had mapped out their upcoming month’s flight schedule when his alarm beeped.
He rose. “Gotta go.”
“I don’t see a flight on the schedule,” Penn said.
Ric was watching Dylan’s face. “It’s not a flight. It’s Tilly.”
“It’s class,” Dylan corrected.
“There’s no class on Tuesdays,” Ric said.
“I know, it’s a field trip.”
Penn grinned. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”
Dylan ignored them as he headed to the door.
“Dylan.”
He turned back and Penn’s smile was gone. “Took you long enough.”
“To what?”
“To come back to the land of the living.”
Ric nodded his agreement. “We’re happy for you, man. We were getting worried about you.”
Dylan scrubbed a hand down his face. They’d all been overseas together. They’d all seen and done stuff they didn’t want to think about, much less even discuss. They’d all changed at their very core because of it.
But Dylan had been the only one of them to almost not make it back. “It’s not what you think,” he said. “Tilly’s not into me like that anymore. She’s still really angry.�
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“You could change that by telling her what happened to you,” Ric said.
“No. The past is staying in the past,” he said firmly.
“You sure about that?” Rick asked. “That’s what you really want?”
Those were two very different questions.
Ric rose and came close, poking a finger into Dylan’s chest. “Look man, you’ve led with your head for years and it saved all our asses on more than one occasion. It also kept you sane. But you’re back now, we’re all back, and we’re safe. It’s time to try a different tactic to life than just surviving.”
Dylan looked at Penn, who nodded his agreement, and then Dylan let out a rough laugh. “Are we, three hardened assholes, seriously having a discussion on our feelings?”
“Sounds like it,” Ric said, still serious, still not playing. “But to be honest, there’s only one of us here who’s still burying his.”
“Hey, just because I haven’t been fucking my way through my contacts—”
“Because you haven’t let anything go deeper than fucking around,” Ric corrected.
“This is a ridiculous conversation and I’m done having it,” Dylan said and headed out.
Tilly had sent a group email to class. The Town of Wildstone’s tourist committee had put out a contest for the design of a local billboard meant to bring tourism traffic through town, and Tilly thought as a class they could win the design hands down. She wanted everyone to get a look at the actual billboard in person before they worked up their submission. Showing up today was entirely voluntary. His worry was that no one would show up and that it would hurt her feelings.
The billboard was located on a two lane windy highway road between the freeway and the ocean. He got there a few minutes early and was surprised to see students there. Getting out of his truck, he moved closer, counting heads. Literally everyone had come. He turned and found Tilly’s eyes on his.
He smiled.
She didn’t. But . . . she didn’t look as irritated at the sight of him as she had the day before yesterday. Progress. He listened as she enthusiastically told everyone her plan for the billboard.
“As you know, town’s looking for a design to attract tourists off the freeway and into downtown to bring attention to the local commerce. The art gallery is sponsoring the billboard,” she said.
“Hey,” one of her students said, eyes on his phone. “I just looked up the art gallery. You’re having a show there in a few weeks,” he said. “Cool.”
“I am,” Tilly said, cheeks flushed, looking happy.
It was a good look on her. He knew she wasn’t making much. She’d done a few shows and sold some of her art. She also put in weekly shifts at the café she and Quinn still owned.
And now here she was, off the clock, doing this for the love of it, and watching her, Dylan saw what an amazing teacher she really was.
“Everyone take out the sketch pads I asked you to bring,” she said. “Just off the cuff, show me what comes to mind for the billboard.”
She walked around, taking in what the students were drawing, smiling and encouraging each. She saved Dylan for last, stopping at his side and silently looking down at his sketch pad.
“What’s that?” she asked.
The only thing he could draw. “The schematic of the inside of the Bell’s engine compartment.”
Her eyes met his and there was a very slight hint of amusement in them. “Interesting design,” she said.
He had to smile. “You’re humoring me because I suck at drawing.”
“Yes.” She patted his hand and walked away. But . . . she’d touched him.
More progress.
Chapter 4
I said I was smart. I never said I had my shit together.
—from “The Mixed-Up Files of Tilly Adams’s Journal”
Ten years prior:
In hindsight, Tilly would’ve said she wasn’t good in an emergency of any sort. She tended to panic first, think later. And in a way, that’s just what she did at Dylan’s dad’s house. She panicked. Didn’t think. Just hit him over the head with her glass soda bottle.
He went down like a sack of rocks.
“Dylan,” she said on a sob as her legs finally gave way. “Oh my God.” Her vision wavered.
When she blinked the cobwebs clear, she was outside, Dylan tugging her down the street. A hundred yards from the house, he finally stopped.
Trembling all over, she sank to the wild grass. Dylan did too, on his knees in front of her, still bleeding and looking pissed.
“I told you to stay away,” he said grimly. “I told you I didn’t need you or your help.”
“But you did need me,” she said and reached out to touch the cut over his eye.
He flinched away. “How did you get here?”
“Bus.”
“Christ,” he muttered and swiped his arm over his bleeding lip. “You’re going to have to go back the same way, and do it now in case anyone calls the cops.”
“Dylan—”
“Now, Tilly. Go now.”
“Why?” She gasped and covered her mouth. “Omigod. Did I kill him?”
“No.” He pulled her up to her feet and gave her a little push. “You were never here, got it?”
That night Tilly sat on Quinn and Mick’s kitchen countertop eating ice cream out of the container with a wooden spoon.
Quinn was doing the same with a different carton at the table, but with her other hand she was also eating a pickle.
Tilly shuddered.
“About two weeks ago,” Quinn said, “our TV remote went missing. Finally bought a new one, and guess what I found in the freezer next to the ice cream just now? Our remote!”
Tilly shook her head. “I don’t know what’s more impressive, you losing your mind so thoroughly, or that it’s been two weeks since you ate ice cream.”
Quinn laughed and offered Leo—dozing in her lap—a lick of ice cream.
“Stop spoiling him,” Tilly said.
Leo turned three circles in Quinn’s shrinking lap and managed to make himself comfortable enough to close his eyes.
“Aw,” Quinn said. “This is the best kind of kid to have. He doesn’t talk back.”
“Hey,” her nine-year-old daughter, Natalie, said from where she was sitting on the counter next to Tilly.
Tilly laughed and hugged her adorable niece. “And what if I have a kid someday who’s allergic to dogs and I have to get rid of the kid?” she asked.
Natalie giggled.
Mick was sitting across from Quinn, shaking his head in horror at what his wife was eating. “I thought the combination of pickle and ice cream gives you heartburn?”
“Breathing gives me heartburn,” Quinn said.
“Yeah, Daddy,” Natalie said. “And it gives her gas too.”
Quinn pointed her pickle at her daughter. “That was our little secret.”
Natalie giggled again. “Hard to keep things like farting a secret, Mom. Plus, it was in Target and you tried to make me take the blame for it.”
Mick grinned and pulled Natalie in for a hug. “You know your mom’s going to be mad at me now, right?”
“Because now you know she farts a lot?”
Mick burst out laughing. So did Tilly.
Quinn groaned and covered her face. “You’re all going to be sorry someday when I’m gone and you have no one to laugh at.”
Tilly’s smile went from amused to nostalgic.
“What?” Quinn asked.
Tilly shrugged. “Mom used to say that.”
“Help me up,” Quinn demanded of Mick, who hoisted her out of the chair. She then moved to Tilly at the counter and wrapped her arms around her.
Tilly sighed. When Quinn was pregnant, she got very emotional. And very huggy. There was no fighting it so she hugged her sister back and set her head on her shoulder.
Natalie tapped on Tilly’s shoulder and then crawled into her lap to join the hug. Tilly felt her throat tighten and her eyes
burn. She had no idea where she would be without Quinn in her life. And by extension, Mick and Natalie. They were her family, her only family, and they meant everything. Quinn sniffled and Tilly knew she felt the same.
“Can we have pizza now?” Nat asked between them.
Tilly laughed, relieved the emotional moment was over, thwarted by the mention of pizza. “Yes, please.”
After dinner, Quinn walked Tilly out. The night was gloriously clear, nothing but stars glittering like diamonds across a black velvet night.
“So what’s up?” Quinn asked. “You’re . . . off.”
“I’m not.”
“Liar.”
Tilly sighed. “It’s no big deal.”
“Then spit it out.”
“I’m suddenly feeling . . .” She tossed up her hands. “This weird sense of disappointment that I’m not some famous artist.” She waited for Quinn to laugh.
But her sister slipped an arm around her waist and didn’t laugh. “You’re feeling dissatisfied with your life.”
Tilly’d had goals for herself. She hadn’t met them. Dylan’d had goals too, and though things hadn’t happened as he’d planned, he’d done something with his life. Something pretty amazing. He’d served his country. He’d seen the world, flying as a pilot for hire. And now he was his own boss. He’d gone from punk-ass kid to soldier to pilot to businessman.
And she . . . well, she dabbled in the arts. “Yeah,” she said to her sister. “I’m dissatisfied. There’s an art fair in San Luis Obispo this weekend and I didn’t get chosen to be in it. It feels worthless, Quinn. I’m a nobody. I’ve done nothing with myself.”
“Stop it. You’re a great teacher.”
“I’ve been teaching for a week and a half,” Tilly said dryly.
Quinn shook her head. “What’s really wrong?”
Tilly sighed again. “Dylan’s in town.”
Quinn expressed no surprise and Tilly froze. “You knew,” she breathed. “You knew and you didn’t tell me?”
“I knew only because I’m a nosy-ass wife. Dylan contacted Mick a few weeks ago looking for an attorney to draw up a partnership agreement for Wildstone Air Tours. I read the email. Trust me, I wanted to tell you—”
