All the shades of yellow, gold, red, orange, green—it’s stunning. A rainbow of color right in front of his house.
“I want a house surrounded by wildflowers.”
The memory hits me square in the chest. Is it possible? Did he plant those for me? Before I can fully process the thought, Dylan steps out onto the porch alongside Delta. His hands are in his pockets, his hair still wet from his shower.
Why must I love him so much? My heart rate quickens as he comes down the porch steps and opens the door for me.
“Thanks,” I say as I climb out of the truck with Ash in my arms. The cat is completely unbothered by the travel, likely because he was so sick when he was a kitten that I took him everywhere. He’s just used to it by now.
He offers me a nod and closes the door behind me before opening the back passenger door and retrieving Ash’s litter box and food. After closing that, he heads up onto the porch, still completely silent.
Which, of course, only makes me more nervous.
“Harlow get settled in?” Bradyn asks as he carries my duffel into the house.
“She did,” he replies. “Acted like she wasn’t happy about the house arrest rules, but she honestly looked a bit relieved.”
“I trust your judgment over what she says,” Bradyn replies.
Dylan sets the litter box down onto the floor near the kitchen—right beside a bag of fresh litter and a stack of wet cat food cans. I smile, unable to fight the joy I feel that he thought about my cat. I know it’s silly, but it’s the little things.
Dylan was always good at the little things.
Like flowers every year on my birthday.
Guilt spreads through me all over again when I remember that day in the church parking lot. It was less than a week ago, but it feels like forever, given everything we’ve faced over the past few days. How I wish I had handled that differently.
Delta trots over to me and sniffs at Ash, who wiggles in my grasp. Since I know they got along when Ash was here before, I don’t stress as I let him free. He and Delta sniff each other for a moment before Ash trots over toward the water bowl and takes a drink like he owns the place.
It makes me smile.
He’s comfortable here, and that’s good. Now I just need to find comfort in it too.
“Any word from Tucker on Slater’s movements?” Bradyn asks.
Dylan shakes his head. “I’ll check in with him later, but so far, it doesn’t look like he’s doing anything.”
“Sounds good. Keep me updated if you hear anything before I do. I’ll do the same.” Bradyn turns toward me. “If you forgot anything, just let me know. I’m around if you need me.”
“Thanks so much, Bradyn. For everything.”
“Anytime.” As he steps out onto the porch, Dylan goes with him and closes the door behind them.
Since I’m not really sure what else to do, or which room Dylan will have me staying in, I don’t attempt to move my stuff. Instead, I take a closer look at his space. Aside from that brief time a few days ago, I’ve never been in his house.
It’s sparsely decorated, with no pictures on the walls. Curtain rods hang over each window, holding long, slate-colored curtains that nearly brush the hardwood floor. The kitchen has quartz countertops, dark veins weaving through the bright white stone.
The kitchen opens into the living room where there’s a TV hanging on the wall across from a leather three-seater couch.
That’s it.
No photos. Throw pillows. Nothing.
Which is so unlike the Dylan I always knew. He had such a personality. Growing up, his room was always decorated with bright colors. A neon green comforter, bright blue curtains—he loved color.
And now everything seems to be shades of gray. Is that how he sees his life? Lacking all color? Or does it remind him of who he used to be?
The door opens, so I turn to face him as he steps inside. Lingering near the door, he shoves both hands into his pockets. “Sorry about this. I know it’s probably not what you wanted, but I think it’s what’s safest for everyone.”
