“Yeah, of course,” he says, still staring at me. “I liked your hair red.”
I don’t respond. Instead, I wonder who Dylan lives with. It’s probably Claire Denim. He was always with her. I had my money on them getting married young, but I’d turned my back on that crowd, desperate to get into the big wide world.
The truck battles against the wind, and to my horror, it slides to the left as Dylan struggles to keep the steering wheel straight.
“Shit,” he curses as I grip the side of my chair, praying we don’t crash.
Somehow, Dylan controls the car, easing it back into the centre of the road. We exchange a glance, and he pretends to mop his brow.
“It’s treacherous out there.”
“Where do you live?” I ask, wondering if he still lives where he always did.
The number of times I would try to find excuses to go near that place,Chestnut Farm. Run by his mum and dad, they supplied the best spuds this side of Devon, and my mother would drive there every week to collect a fresh bag. Obviously, I would go with her, but that was once a week, and Dylan was never anywhere to be seen. I used to try to convince my best friend, Grace, to walk the massive distance from her house just to catch a glimpse of him, but she used to roll her eyes and snort with laughter at me.
I was desperate to see him.
“Southey Lane,” he replies, peering through the windscreen.
“Not at the farm anymore?”
“No, Mum and Dad still are, though.”
“Still selling the best potatoes this side of Bellwood?” I grin as he chuckles, a sexy sound that comes from somewhere deep beneath the many layers of clothes he is wearing.
“Yeah, and eggs, don’t forget the eggs.”
“It’s strange being back here,” I murmur, and I wonder why I say it aloud. I blink rapidly to find Dylan gazing at me before he snaps his eyes back to the road.
“You back to see Cassie?” he asks, his eyebrows raised.
“Yeah, Mum and Dad are in Oz, and I didn’t want to spend it alone.”
Great, Meredith. You sound like the saddest person on the planet.
“Yeah, always good to spend it with family,” Dylan continued cheerfully. “That’s what Christmas is all about, or so they say.”
I detect an air of humbug in his tone, and I instantly challenge him about it.
“Don’t you like Christmas?”
He rolls his eyes, a smile curving his lips as he replies. “It was better as a kid; put it that way.”
“Aww, you miss getting a sack of gifts from Santa?” I tease, watching him intently.
Why would someone not like Christmas?
“I don’t miss anything. I just think it’s great for those that are surrounded by people they love, you know? It gets a bit sad to be still sitting at the table with your parents at our age.”
“You’re single?” I ask in disbelief, my mouth moving before my brain.
“Why do you sound so surprised?” Dylan asks, his brow furrowing as he turns into a lane I recognise.
“I don’t know,” I admit, biting my lip. “I kind of assumed you and Claire would’ve made it together.”
“Claire?” He laughs, pulling into a drive that is thankfully flat. The tyres crunch on the snow beneath them, and I breathe a sigh of relief when he cuts the engine. “Claire, who?”
“Denim.” I shrug, hoping I sound nonchalant.
