by Jill Shalvis
Quinn gasped, a hand to her heart as joy filled her expression. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Tilly narrowed her eyes. “Wait—what are you doing?”
“Nothing,” Quinn sniffed.
“You’re crying. There’s no crying in here! There’s no crying in school!”
“I know.” Quinn lifted the hem of her shirt and swiped at her eyes.
Tilly sighed.
“Well, sue me, I’m pregnant, okay? I cry at the drop of a hat! Or at the sight of my beautiful baby sister looking happy for once.”
Tilly searched her pockets for tissues and came up with a napkin.
Quinn blew her nose noisily. “And it’s not just the teaching making you look like that either.”
“Stop trying to make my life a romance novel,” Tilly said. “Romance does not make the world go round.”
“No, but it makes it a better place. Tell me the truth. You still care about him.”
Tilly opened her mouth but Quinn held up a finger. “Look me in the eyes when you attempt to deny it because you’ve never been able to look me in the eyes and lie.”
Tilly looked her in the eyes. “Dammit.”
Quinn smiled. “I thought you were over him?”
“Shut up,” Tilly said without heat. “Now go be pregnant.”
Quinn laughed. “You’re not over him. You like him.”
Yeah. Yeah, she did, and she peered in the narrow window on her classroom door to catch sight of him. His head was bent in concentration with a handful of the students around him working in tandem on their projects.
It was terrifying how easily he fit back into her life and at the thought, her breath quickened. “I’m going to hyperventilate.”
Quinn popped open the tin and shoved a cookie at her. “Here, eat this. It’s impossible to eat one of my perfect cookies and hyperventilate.”
Tilly shoved half a cookie into her mouth.
“See?”
Tilly shook her head. “I’m too broken for this,” she said around a mouthful.
Quinn’s smile faded and she hugged Tilly tight, nearly suffocating her. “Last I checked,” she whispered against Tilly’s jaw, “we’re all a little broken.” She pulled back to look into Tilly’s eyes. “And yet we still live and breathe. And love.”
The sun was just thinking of setting when Tilly watched Dylan pilot the helicopter in for a landing. She sipped from a specialty mug of tea that Ric had made for her and watched through the wall of windows of the hangar as Dylan helped his clients from the chopper, who surprised her by being two kids and their families.
“They’re Make-A-Wish kids,” Penn said, coming up beside her, looking out the window. “Dylan made it happen.”
She watched as he ruffled one of the kids’ hair. The kid lifted his arms and Dylan obliged, picking him up, swinging him up onto his shoulders as they walked around the helicopter. Dylan pointed out some things and then the next kid got the exact same treatment.
“He’s showing them his post-flight check,” Penn said. “He’s got this thing, especially after his injury and losing his dream.” Penn met her gaze in the reflection of the window. “He likes to show kids you can come back from that and still fly, or whatever the hell it is you dream of.”
The clients came in and Penn moved to greet them, effortlessly working his charismatic, charming host gig while Tilly watched Dylan conduct another post-flight check.
By the time he came in, hair tousled and cheeks reddened from the wind chill, dark aviator sunglasses covering his eyes, leather jacket stretched taut over broad shoulders, she’d forgotten what she’d come to say to him. All she wanted to do was get his mouth back on hers.
At the sight of her standing there, he pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head, his gaze surprised. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
He eyed her mug of tea and his gaze flicked to the hallway of the offices, where Ric stood. “For such a hardened war hero, you’re an old lady, you know that?”
Ric just toasted him with his own mug of tea. “Takes one to know one, man.” And then he was gone.
Dylan turned the full force of his attention on Tilly. “It’s nice to see you,” he said. “But what are you doing here?”
She pulled her lower lip in between her teeth and contemplated him. “Truth?”
“Always.”
She drew a deep breath. “I came to discuss . . . what happened between us.”
“Okay.” His brown eyes were warm and curious. He was willing to listen to her.
Which was more than she could say for herself. At the thought, and against her own better sense, she felt herself soften. “I have questions,” she said.
“Ask,” he said easily. “I’ll answer anything you’ve got.”
She set down her tea and took a deep breath. “Why didn’t you just tell me you were leaving and why. You knew I’d understand.”
He hesitated.
“You said anything,” she reminded him.
“I’m trying, but the truth is—and was—that you couldn’t possibly have understood. I didn’t, not even when it was happening to me.”
She crossed her arms. “You didn’t even try me,” she said tightly.
He blew out a breath. “I wanted to make something of myself, and the sole reason I wanted that was because of you. You made me believe in myself enough to go for the astronaut dream. I didn’t get there though.”
He’d once been the most important person in her life, so it shouldn’t shock her that she’d been his.
“But you tried. And you made it work for you regardless.”
He shrugged.
“Dylan . . .” She spread her arms wide. “Look at me. I’m not exactly the world-famous artist I thought I’d be.”
“You’ve still got your art,” he said. “And your show in a week now.”
She sucked in a breath of nerves at the reminder. “Yeah.”
“I’m proud of you,” he said. “And now you’re spreading the joy of the art by teaching. You’re doing good things, Tilly. I think you’d be happy if you let yourself be.”
“And how about you?” she asked. “Are you letting yourself be happy?”
“I didn’t. Not for a long time.” He shook his head. “When I first got injured, I was angry. Really angry. And a part of me thought I’d probably turn into my father.”
“You’re never going to be like him,” she said adamantly.
“How do you know?”
“I know.”
He arched a disbelieving brow.
“I just saw you with those kids. They needed this, needed you, and you were amazing with them. If you really have any deep-seated fears of being like your father, take a good look at yourself today.”
He lost a little bit of his remoteness with that and he held out his hand.
She stared at it. “What?”
“Trust me?”
“Yes,” she said without hesitation.
He wiggled his fingers and she slipped her hand in his. He then led her out onto the tarmac and toward the Bell, pulling out his phone, calling Ric or Penn to let them know he was going back up with a plus one. Then he got her seated in the co-pilot seat and turned to her, checking her seat belt and handling his own. Then he slid the aviators down back over his eyes. “Ready?” he asked.
“For what?”
He smiled.
When they were in the air, her stomach was in her chest squishing her heart and she sat with her nose pressed up against the window, breathless with wonder.
“You okay?”
She nodded but didn’t take her eyes off the sights. From up here she could see green rolling hills, dotted with lines of grape crops and oaks, outlined on one side by the shiny blue Pacific, white-capped and shimmering brilliantly. “The view, it’s . . . beautiful.”
“Mine’s not bad either.”
She met his gaze and rolled her eyes.
“Too cheesy?” he asked.
“Yes.” But she’d liked
it . . .
He pointed out to her left. “That’s Wildstone. Wait for it . . .” A few seconds later, he nodded. “Caro’s Café.”
She saw her mom’s café, and seeing it from an aerial view like this, for some reason her throat became tight. “Wow.”
“You and Quinn kept it,” he said. “And her house.”
“We did.” She kept her eyes to the window. “We thought about selling them a bunch of times, but it’s all we have of her and we like feeling her there.”
“Nothing wrong with holding on to good memories,” he said quietly. “I’ve held on to mine.”
She looked over at him then and they stared at each other for a beat. “Did you ever get into any serious relationships?” she asked quietly. “After me?”
He shook his head. “I saw women here and there, but nothing serious. You?”
She let out a low laugh. “There’s like ten different levels of dating now before you actually date. It’s so confusing to me that it makes me need a nap.”
Thirty minutes later, he brought them in for a smooth landing and turned to her. “Let me unconfused things for you.”
“What?”
Leaning in, he pulled off her headset and let his fingers tighten in her hair. “We’re actually dating. No nap required. Unless you want one, and I’ll be happy to join you.”
Chapter 8
I’m not like other girls, I know what I want for dinner. I’ve been thinking about it since lunch.
—from “The Mixed-Up Files of Tilly Adams’s Journal”
Ten years prior:
“Did you study?” Dylan asked.
In spite of wanting to cry, Tilly smiled at him because he cared about her so much it hurt. “Yes.”
“Good.” He stood and pulled her up. “You’ve got to go home before you get in trouble.”
She stood close to him, very close—the toes of their battered sneakers touched. But since he was so much taller than she was, that was about all that lined up and she ached, ached, to be as tall because then she could feel him, thigh to thigh, chest to chest. Her breathing hitched just thinking about it.
Kiss me, she wished with all her might. Please for once, kiss me . . .
And maybe it was her turn for a miracle because he did. He bent and kissed the top of her head.
“Dylan,” she whispered with all the longing in her heart, which felt like it might burst.
He stilled. “Tee—”
“Please?” she whispered, tipping back her head.
He groaned and crushed her to him. For the most perfect moment in all the moments of her entire life, he lowered his mouth to hers. Soft. Gentle. Patient.
But Tilly wasn’t feeling any of those things, so she tugged him in even closer. Then, on a mission, she touched her tongue to his and . . . the kiss exploded.
It was like nothing she’d ever felt in her entire life as he hauled her in tight and kissed her deep. Her heart pounded, her skin felt too tight for her body, and she loved it.
But then he pulled away.
With a little mewl of protest, she tried to wrap herself around him, but he gripped her arms and held her off. “Tee. Tee, stop. We’re not doing this.”
“Why?” she demanded, and if he said it was because she was too young for him, she was going to—
“You deserve more.”
“I don’t. You’re all I want,” she told him with all the fierceness of her entire soul. “I love you, Dylan. You’re mine, and you know what else? I’m yours.”
He sucked in a hard breath and she realized he was shaking. Shaking with the effort to not kiss her again. Her hands came up to his chest and she fisted her fingers in his shirt, longing, longing . . . for more.
But it wasn’t going to come because he gently wrapped his fingers around her wrists and brought her hands down and stepped back. “’Night, Tee.”
“’Night,” she whispered. Dammit. She took longer going home, dragging it out another good ten minutes, in spite of everything smiling to herself the whole time.
He’d finally kissed her! It had been a life-changing kiss, the kiss of all kisses, and no matter what he said, there’d be more.
Because he loved her too.
She knew that now, and because she did, she could wait for the rest.
On Monday, Dylan got to the college campus early, and thanks to his text, so had the other students. They met in the parking lot around his truck and bent their heads over the set of plans he’d printed out.
“Oh my God.”
“Wow.”
“It’s perfect.”
The low murmurs gave him a surge of hope. “Yeah?” he asked.
Everyone agreed wholeheartedly that he’d knocked it out of the park. “Okay,” he said. “So we’re all clear on our roles there.” He rolled up the plans and stuffed them back into the toolbox in his truck bed just as a voice spoke from behind him.
“What’s going on?”
Everyone turned and looked at Tilly with horrified blank faces. Shit. Dylan shifted, blocking the back of his truck. “We’re working hard on our projects,” he said.
“You are?” Her brow was furrowed in confusion. “Together?”
He stepped toward her, nudging her aside so no one could hear them. “We’re stronger together,” he said and watched her look at him speculatively.
“Are we still talking about the project?” she asked. “Or us?”
“In this case, it’s a little of both.”
She looked past him to the other students. Dylan thought that not one in the bunch would make a good actor—they were all bright eyed and looking like they were holding a big secret.
Which of course they were.
“Look at them,” she whispered and he started to grimace until she finished her sentence. “They’re excited and inspired.”
She sounded so touched that he leaned in to brush a kiss to her temple. “They are excited and inspired,” he said. “By you. You’re doing something really great here, Tee. I hope you know that.”
She let out a breath. “Thank you for saying that, but—”
“It’s true.”
The bell rang. Saved, he thought as everyone headed into class.
The rest of the week went quick. He spent his days working his ass off and his nights seducing Tilly. Best. Week. Ever.
On Friday, he ran from class to work, had several flights and a meeting with Penn and Ric, always with their financial advisor and attorney.
They weren’t yet in the black, but they were ahead of projections to be there by the end of the year. Penn and Ric wanted to celebrate, but he shook his head.
“Tilly’s show is tonight at the gallery,” he said. “You’re both going.”
“Told you he was in over his head,” Penn said to Ric.
Ric nodded. “And it’s about time.”
Dylan opened his mouth, but Ric kept talking. “And we wouldn’t miss the show.”
“Wine, cheese, women . . .” Penn smiled innocently. “Sounds like a great time.”
Dylan pointed at him. “Don’t even think about picking anyone up there tonight.”
“Got it,” Penn said. “But if they pick me up, that’s okay, right?”
Dylan got to the gallery early, wanting to help Tilly set up or just to be moral support. But found Quinn in the parking lot struggling to hoist herself out of her car. He gave her a hand. Actually two hands, and then shook his head when she straightened, a little breathless. “You shouldn’t be driving.”
“I’m still a week away from delivery,” she panted.
“Are you sure?”
She rolled her eyes. “I’ve gone to the hospital twice with false labor. I’m not going to embarrass myself again. This baby’s going to be halfway out before I go back.”
He winced at the image. “Where’s Mick?”
“He had to run up to San Francisco for a client. He’ll be back before the show’s over so he can support Tilly.”
He led her inside and di
rectly to a chair. Tilly rushed over from the back and dropped to her knees before Quinn. “What is it? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, the baby’s fine! Your boyfriend’s just overprotective.”
Tilly looked up at Dylan and he did his best to indeed look like a guy she might want as her boyfriend, as juvenile as the word sounded. Because he wanted a whole lot more than to be just her boyfriend. He wanted things he hadn’t been able to imagine wanting . . .
“I’m fine,” Quinn repeated and shooed the both of them away. “Go. Go enjoy your show. You look amazing.”
Tilly accepted Dylan’s hand and let him pull her upright. She tugged at the hem of her sexy little black dress that sparkled when she shifted, the material both clingy and yet somehow playing coy with her curves.
“You look beautiful,” he said. Actually she was eye-popping and heart-stopping and he wanted to say so, but Quinn was leaning forward to hear their every word and he didn’t want her to fall out of the chair.
Tilly smiled up at him, her gaze on his mouth. She wanted a kiss and he wanted to give her one. He turned her away from Quinn and leaned in. “That’s some dress,” he whispered, his lips ghosting hers.
She smiled and closed the distance, pressing her mouth to his. “Wore it for you,” she whispered back. “And to distract myself. I’m so nervous.”
“Don’t be.” He let his gaze move around the room, at the dizzying, colorful array of her art, which was just as eye-popping and heart-stopping as the woman. “It’s amazing.” He smiled down at her. “Like you.”
“You have to say that,” she said. “Because you’re hoping to get me naked later.”
Guilty. He was indeed hoping to get her naked later.
“What if no one comes?” she asked.
He took her hand and pulled her around the corner where she could see into the front room, which was packed.
“Oh my God.” She shook a disbelieving head. “Do you think Quinn paid them all to show up?”
“No one’s being paid to be here,” he said, pulling her out into the room, where one of the gallery owners was walking around with a tray of wineglasses and some hors d’oeuvres. Tilly took two glasses of wine and handed one to Dylan. “I need something for my hands to do,” she murmured.
