Page 132 of Heartland
Epilogue
Chastity
Valentine's Dayis yet another holiday I didn't have for the first nineteen years of my life. “There were no heart-shaped candies at the Paradise Ranch,” I’d told Rickie and Dylan. “Can you imagine the mayhem if every man had to romance five wives on one night?”
The idea had made me snort-laugh in a very unladylike way.
But I guess Dylan took it as a challenge. When I wake up in his bed on February 14th, I’m alone. But I can smell the coffee brewing downstairs, and when I step into the kitchen, a giant bouquet of red and silver balloons blocks my path to the coffee pot.
“Oh wow,” I say, spotting Dylan’s and Rickie’s feet somewhere near the kitchen table. “This is so—”
“Gaudy?” Rickie supplies.
“Extravagant,” I insist, pushing the balloons aside. When I locate the table, Dylan is waiting there beside a sumptuous heart-shaped box of Lake Champlain Chocolates.Anda dozen red roses. The tag reads:For Chastity.
“Oh, Dylan!” I gasp. “I’ve never gotten roses.” I step right over and sit in his lap, because there are only two chairs at the table. And because Dylan is my favorite furniture anyway.
“See?” he says, reaching over to give Rickie a poke in the arm. “Tone down the cynicism.” He nudges the chocolates in my direction. “I got this boyfriend thing all figured out.” He hands me his coffee mug, and I help myself to a gulp.
He does, indeed, have this boyfriend thing figured out.
Rickie just shakes his head. “I guess you had to go big on the flowers since you can’t take your girl out to a nice V-day dinner.”
“That’s okay with me,” I say, leaning back against Dylan’s bare chest. “I’m looking forward to tonight.”
“There will be, like, a hundred girls drooling over your man,” Rickie points out. “I predict an estrogen fest at the club tonight.”
“You’re coming though, right?” I demand. “Ellie is counting on you to sneak her in. How are you going to do that, anyway?”
“Piece of cake,” he says. “Just wait.”
* * *
The Hardwick Boys are playing their second gig ever at a Burlington bar—this one a few blocks away from the bar that Ellie and I were kicked out of in the fall. The room is packed with a Valentine’s Day crowd, but I’ve got a plum spot near the front. Griffin made a point to drive Audrey, Leah, and Isaac into town for the evening.
“Who’s babysitting?” I’d asked the moment they walked in. I feel a twinge of guilt as I ask the question. Leah and Isaac had stayed home on New Year’s so I could go out with Dylan to the concert.
“We hired a high school friend of Dylan’s to watch Maeve and Gus at our house,” Griffin says. “Her name is Debbie? I don’t know if you ever met her.”
“Um, yup,” I say. “I remember Debbie.”
“Both kids were asleep when we drove away.” Griffin shrugs. “Easy money for Debbie. Audrey and I need a night out anyway, right? And why not watch the kid play his fiddle?”
“You should stop calling him the kid,” Audrey points out. “You’re going to be business partners. You should refer to each other in terms of mutual respect.”
“You’re right, babe. Now let’s watch the kid play.” He points at the stage, where Dylan and Keith have appeared to hoots of applause.
“Evening!” Dylan says into the microphone. “Who wants to dance on Valentine’s Day?”
There’s an estrogen-fueled shriek.
“Let’s do this!”
Keith counts them in, and they launch into a fast-paced tune. Keith is on an electric guitar this time, giving them a slightly grittier sound. They call their stylefunkabilly, whatever that is.
Right before he left us to tune up with Keith, Dylan announced to us that they had “a nice, tight ninety minutes” of music prepared for tonight. “It’s gotten easier to put a set together.”
“That must be the result of finally declaring your major,” Griffin had teased.
