The view is beautiful. Nashville’s John Seigenthaler Pedestrian Bridge arches over a lush sea of green. I pause, my heart pounding.
Am I making a mistake?
I try to convince myself I need this sliver of happiness. That I’m not hurting anyone, not really, as long as I don’t take it too far. That I’m still in control.
But that’s the biggest lie of all.
Then Dylan appears. He strides toward me, baseball cap backward, wearing that smirk, the one that always pulls me in and makes everything else disappear.
My breath hitches.
“You’re here,” he murmurs, his fingers lacing through mine. His touch is warm, sending a slow burn through me. And every ounce of doubt melts away.
“I’m here,” I whisper, my heartbeat slowing. “This view—it’s stunning. Where are you taking me?”
He gestures to his truck, and when I glance up, I stop dead in my tracks.
“What is this?” My voice catches.
“It’s a truck picnic,” he says softly. “A reminder that you deserve moments that make you happy, just for you. No expectations. Just friends.”
Wow, this is probably the sweetest thing anyone’s done for me.
He helps me climb into the back, and it all feels unreal, like stepping into someone else’s dream. The seats are folded down, flannel blankets across the floor, overstuffed pillows begging me to melt into them, and a cooler in the corner. He even thought of a small heater to keep us warm.
I slip off my heels and sink into the cozy blankets. “Thank you.” I smile, nudging him playfully. “Seriously, though?”
Dylan settles beside me, pulling out a duffle bag. “What?” He unzips it, revealing all my favorite snacks, including his famous hot chicken. “You need to eat, and we enjoy hanging out. What’s the problem?”
I narrow my eyes, leaning in. “What else is in there? Eggplants? Whips? A leash? Because I’m not prepared for that kind of picnic.”
He laughs, the sound chasing away the dark shadows inside of me. “You’re the fucking best, why didn’t I think of that? Next time, I’ll pack ‘special-sized veggies’ for you.”
I bite back my laugh, but it’s pointless—my imagination’s already gone wild. And my panties were soaked the moment he walked up to me in that stupid baseball cap.
“If this is you ‘not showing me.’” My voice catches as he gets closer. “I can’t imagine what it looks like when you try to seduce someone.”
He raises his brow. “Wouldn’t you love to know?”
“Speaking of food,” I say, shifting gears. “My kids think our puppy should be named Chewie Bits or Boner Dong. You know, the dog I found out we’re getting this morning.”
“Boner Dong! Hands down!” he declares as he leans back, chuckling. “And if I wanted to sleep with you, I’d have just said so. Also, wouldn’t have brought you this.” He reaches into his bag and hands me a book—Pretty Girl Gone Missing.
My cheeks light up as I grab it from him. “So, this is your game? Wooing women with murder books and bold honesty? That easy for you, Mr. Hayes?”
“Actually, no.” He shakes his head. “It’s never been easy. You probably wouldn’t have even talked to nerdy Dylan in high school.”
“Highly doubt that,” I say, flipping the book open to the first page.
Jacob’s finally dead. Sarah’s next. But this time, I won’t make the mistake of letting her get too close…
Dylan’s forehead wrinkles, his eyebrows raised high.
“Well,” I say, giving him a playful look. “This is… an interesting choice of book.”
His eyes flicker to mine, fork hovering midair. “I swear, I didn’t know the first person getting axed was named Jacob.” His voice breaks off. “Pure coincidence.”
I laugh, turning the page. “Wipe the worry off your face. I believe you.” My gaze lingers for a moment. “Surprised you remembered our conversation about my love for thrillers.”
