Page 17 of Wicked & Wildflower

Dahlia smiles at me, placing a hand on the top of her daughter’s head and nudging her toward the street. “Alright, kid.Let’s go. You’re gonna be late.” She turns to me briefly. “I’ll be right back!”

I wave them off just as Lou shouts, “Oh my God! This is what you’re driving me to school in?”

“Don’t get used to it,” Dahlia chimes as Lou climbs inside the backseat.

I go back to work on Dahlia’s car, but I don’t miss the burst of delighted giggles as the engine roars to life. I don’t miss the way it makes me smile, either.

9

Wicked

Sunrise After A Hurricane

“Hey. I grabbed acoffee from the gas station and refilled your tank on my way back.”

Her voice startles me as I lift out of the hood to look at her. The to-go cup is extended toward me, a peace offering from giant blue eyes. Her freckles are showing in the morning sun because she’s not wearing makeup.

She’s pretty all the time, but I like her especially like this, since I know not everyone gets to see her this way. This is how she looks when she’s rushed and stressed, and her appearance is the last thing on her mind.

This is how she looks when she calls me because she needs help. And I know she only called me because she didn’t have anyone else, but I relish the feeling of being needed by someone like her, someone I know—even after only a few weeks—is stubbornly independent. I relish the feeling of seeing her freckles, because they feel like a secret.

“You didn’t need to do that,” I respond.

She shrugs. “My payment for your assistance.”

I think of all the other ways I’d like her to repay me. I don’t say that, though.

“I don’t need payment.”

“Well, here it is anyway.”

Stubborn.

“Thank you.” I smile as I take the coffee from her extended hand. “How’d you like driving the Jeep?”

She tries to hide the smile on her face. “It was actually kind of fun after I dropped Lou off at school. When I was younger, I had this dream of living in an old van for a few months, just driving up and down the West Coast and exploring; having the top down and the doors off felt like a few moments of how I imagined that life would look.” She stops talking suddenly, biting her lip and looking down at her feet, as if she hadn’t meant to say it.

I take a sip of the coffee she bought me and fight back a sputter when the taste hits my tongue.

She winces. “I just got it black. You look like the kind of man who doesn’t like sugar in his coffee.”

I force myself to swallow. “I love sugar in my coffee, actually. But yeah, no. This is good too.” I reluctantly take another sip because I don’t want her to think I’m not grateful.

Secretly, I’m jealous of whatever creamy colored, iced, whip-creamed concoction she’s got in her hand.

I try not to let my face blanch as I drink, but I think she catches it anyway because she lets out a quiet laugh. “I’m so sorry.” The light in her eyes, the brief moment of calm from her panicked morning, makes drinking this shit well worth it. “I have creamer in the house if you want to take a break and come inside.”

I’m never going to turn down that offer. “That’d be great. Thanks.”

I follow her up the steps and inside. We take a left, through the dining room, and into the kitchen. I’m used to finding the island in the middle of the space covered in blooming flowers that Darby picked from the garden out back, but today, it’s centered with a huge, pink-frosting-covered cake.

“Someone’s birthday I need to know about?” I ask.

“Nope.” Dahlia opens the fridge and bends over while I try not to stare at her ass. “We just thought it'd be fun to make a pink cake. It’s lemon with strawberry frosting.”

Damn.That sounds good.

She stands straight with a bottle of vanilla coffee creamer in her hand. Shutting the fridge door with her foot, she slides the bottle across the counter to me. I pop the lid off my coffee cup and pour a generous amount inside.

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