“Well, now I have to build that arch and make it the best arch you’ve ever seen in your life!”
I laugh despite myself. “You’re really okay with this?”
“Sure. I like building things. I like being useful. And I’ve already saved you from a soda machine meltdown and rogue hot dogs. Might as well keep the streak going.”
I glance at him, heart thumping harder than it should. He’s casually charming in a way that sneaks up on you — like you’re laughing and then you realize you’ve been leaning in too close for too long.
“Should we go out for coffee to celebrate this arrangement?”
I sit straighter. “This is a professional arrangement.”
“Understood,” he says, but his smile doesn’t budge. “Strictly business. You drive a hard bargain, Addi — Addison.”
I catch the slip. Or maybe it wasn’t one. Still, I press on. “I just want to be clear. People talk in this town.”
“OK,” he says lightly.
“You’re young…” I say.
He glances over. “And you’re not? Not sure why we’re talking about each other’s age right now.”
“I don’t want people to start rumors. You weren’t around for the Great Library Flirtation of 2018,” I mutter. “Two people dated across a six-year age gap and it turned into weekly gossip column material.”
“Wow. I’m honored that our hypothetical coffee date could rival that much drama.”
I glare, but there’s no real heat behind it.
“Okay, okay.” He lifts a hand. “Professional. I get it. No jokes. No flirtation.”
“You’re literally doing it right now.”
He grins. “What, this?” He gestures between us. “This is just friendly banter. The kind contractors do while discussing lumber types and joint angles.”
I shake my head. “So, you’re this suave with all your clients? Independent of the gender?”
“OK you got me,” he says, easing the truck onto a side road. “I may have turned on the charms for you, to secure this arrangement — professionally speaking, of course.”
“Professionally speaking, of course…” I chuckle. I see you.
The orchard comes into view — rows of trees casting long shadows over the grass, the clearing for the ceremony tucked just beyond a stone path. It’s beautiful in that undone, wild way that weddings dream of capturing. But all I can think about is the way my stomach keeps flipping every time he smiles.
He parks the truck and hops out, rounding the front to open my door like he’s in a rom-com. I ignore the flutter that gesture sends through me and step down carefully.
“Alright,” I say, getting into planner mode. “Let’s talk logistics.”
He nods, all business now. “Layout, materials, dimensions. I’m yours for the next hour.”
My cheeks heat at the phrasing. I don’t respond.
We walk side by side down the path. I point out where the arch will go, where the benches should line up. He takes measurements, jots notes on a notepad he pulled from his glovebox. It’s absurdly endearing.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I hear Maggie’s voice: Maybe it’s time you let yourself do something unexpected.
I ignore it.
Because the truth is — I like the way Dylan looks at me. I like his steadiness, his dry humor, his maddening confidence. I like how he listens. How he takes the chaos in stride.
But I also know how small this town is. How fast people talk. And how easy it is to mistake kindness for something more.
