Only in My Dreams (31 page)

He smiled, and she relaxed slightly. “That's good to hear. He comes around here almost as much as you do.”

“Fair warning, I think it might get worse. He's excited to get started on the restaurant phase. We spent a lot of time talking about plans for the Arch and Fox this past weekend.”

“Duly noted. Though I won't be much help if he wants to talk about the next phase.”

The reason hung in the air between them—because they hadn't made a decision about who was going to be the contractor. “Tori hasn't even finished the design yet. She needs to consult with an engineer.”

“I know, but it would be great if you guys included the contractor on those discussions. It would make their job a lot easier.”

He had a point. “I'll let them know, thanks. Do you think next spring is too early for me to start booking for this space?” Though Derek and Chloe's wedding would be here in August, there was no point hosting events in the middle of a construction zone. Which was fine since weddings were booked so far out anyway.

Dylan shrugged. “I really can't say since I don't know much about the next phases.”

She hated the chill in his tone. Moving closer, she kept her voice low. “You know it's not up to me, right? If it were, I'd hire you right now.”

He quirked a smile at her. “Sure you're not just saying that to . . . you know, get in my pants.”

Was he kidding? Of course he was kidding. She was really overthinking now. She dug to find the flirtation they usually shared. “Of course that's why I'm saying it. I haven't seen you since Friday. I'll say whatever I have to.”

He laughed, and the familiar warmth she typically felt with him swept over her. “I have to get back to work, but maybe I'll see you tonight.” He gave her a hot stare that sent shivers to her belly and far lower.

“You know where to find me.”

His gaze fixed on something behind her. She turned to see Kyle in the doorway. He was looking at them with a bemused expression. Shit, had he overheard? No, they'd been talking very quietly and the sounds of construction from upstairs had to have drowned them out.

“See you later, Sara,” Dylan said, his voice crisp and formal.

She glanced at him, saw that he was looking at Kyle and not her, and murmured, “See you.” She walked toward Kyle, who moved out of the doorway.

“Hey, Sara-cat.”

“Hi, Kyle. I'll be in the office.”

“See you in a few. Just want to chat with Dylan about a few things.”

She nodded, then started off along the dirt path, pondering whether she'd made a huge miscalculation about Dylan. Maybe he was perfectly happy with the rules of their secret affair and maybe she was doing what she'd promised not to—becoming clingy. Suddenly she could see how things could become very, very messy. And wondered—regretfully—if they should've kept to their original agreement.

Chapter Nineteen

D
YLAN PARKED A
block or so behind the historic home that housed Hazel, one of Newberg's best restaurants. With the weather warming as summer approached, the exterior was a bustle of outside seating, festive lights, and dozens of patrons. The space looked fun and inviting, but Dylan knew their reservation would be inside. Bill hated to dine next to a road because of the smell of exhaust, and the restaurant sat on the main highway through town.

Passing the outdoor seating area on the lawn, Dylan climbed the stairs to the porch at the front of the house. He pushed the door open and was instantly greeted by someone standing behind the bar in the room just off the foyer. “Amy will be right with you.”

He nodded and pivoted on his heel to his right toward the dining area. Cubbies of wine nestled into the wall to his left showcased the best the Willamette Valley had to offer. A young woman in a black blouse and khaki skirt came from the dining room. “Good evening. Are you looking for your party?”

“I am. Davies?”

She smiled. “Just through here.”

Dylan passed the smaller seating area with the wine cubbies and moved into the main dining room. His own smile froze in place as his eyes landed on the party—of
three
—against the wall. Mom, Bill, and some unknown young woman with bright blond hair and dark-rimmed glasses set on her pert nose. They all saw him at once, but it was Mom who spoke.

“Over here, Dylan.”

The hostess went to stand beside his chair and gestured to the menu, which sat beside his place setting. “Here you are.”

“Uh, thanks.” He sat down, his entire body feeling as though it were crafted of wood. Very hard and brittle wood.

“Hello, dear,” Mom said in a sunny voice that made Dylan want to grind his teeth. “This is Tracy Brinkley. Tracy is a new physician's assistant at work.”

Dylan had been forced to take the chair next to Tracy so he turned to shake her hand. He might be seething inside, but he could be polite, damn it. “Tracy.”

She smiled, her eyes crinkling behind her glasses. The brown shade of her eyebrows hinted that perhaps blonde wasn't her natural color. “Nice to meet you.”

A strong, cloying smell, like Nordstrom during their anniversary sale that Mom had dragged him to when he was younger, wafted toward him. He preferred Sara's fresher, more subtle scent.

Dylan picked up his menu and stuck his face in it before he could glare at Mom or Bill. Mom supplied the conversation until the server came by and shared the specials. Bill ordered a bottle of pinot and Dylan ordered a beer just to be contrary. They'd foisted a blind date on him and if the only independence he could claim was his beverage, then so be it. How could Mom do this to him?

“Your mom tells me you're in construction?” Tracy asked. “How's that?”

“It's good, thanks.”

“Tracy spent two years in the Peace Corps,” Mom said approvingly. “It's almost like you being the army.”

Except it wasn't remotely. “I was an engineer and served mostly stateside. I'm sure Tracy's assignments were far more exciting and exotic. And totally unrelated to military operations.”

Tracy laughed. “Um, yes. I don't know about exciting, but more exotic for sure. How was the army?”

“Good.”

Mom gave him a disapproving stare, which he returned with a “how could you?” glower.

“You'll have to forgive Dylan,” Bill said, laughing the fake laugh he used to fill awkward silences. “He's not the best conversationalist in groups. You get him one-on-one and he's more comfortable.” Bill didn't look at Dylan as he said this, which was just as well so he couldn't see the disbelief that was surely etched in Dylan's expression. Bill had no idea what sort of conversationalist Dylan was. They hadn't had a meaningful conversation since Dylan was twelve and Bill had told him in no uncertain terms that he was a nuisance to his family and that he only put up with his presence because of his mother.

Mom nodded in agreement with Bill, touching his arm. “It's true. Dylan is so much better one-on-one. After dinner, we'll let you two have dessert alone.” She smiled and settled back in her chair, seeming quite pleased with her plan.

The server brought their drinks and Dylan took a heavy pull on the IPA while the wine was opened, sampled by Bill, and poured into their three glasses.

“I told Tracy about your divorce and how you haven't had a girlfriend in ages,” Mom said, obliterating any hope that she'd been even a little bit subtle about her matchmaking.
Fucking A, could this evening get any worse?

The answer was a resounding yes.

Just then a trio of Archers walked into the dining room: Tori, Kyle, and Sara. She stopped abruptly and stared at him. He nearly stood but Tracy took that moment to touch his arm and ask him another question. He dragged his gaze away from Sara to glance at Tracy, not hearing a word she said. When he looked back, both Tori and Kyle were peering at him surreptitiously while Sara stared down at her menu, her hands buried in her lap. If knew her at all, she was rubbing her leather bracelet for sensory input.

Kyle said something to her. She nodded, but didn't say anything.

The conversation at Dylan's table limped along. Mom and Bill laughed at something. Sara stood suddenly, knocking over her water. Kyle jumped up and rubbed his hand along her upper arm.

Sara's face was pale and when her gaze connected with Dylan's once more, he read anxiety and distress.

He pushed back from the table. “Excuse me.” He crossed the small dining room. “Sara, are you all right?”

She glanced up at him, but said nothing.

“We just stopped in on our way back from the airport.” Tori watched him bemusedly, likely wondering why he'd come over to check on Sara. Damn, he hadn't thought that through at all. “We dropped Mom and Hayden off.”

Shit
. Dylan had forgotten they were leaving today. After spending Tuesday night with Sara, he'd worked late the rest of the week and Sara had been also been busy, probably helping her mom before she left, now that he thought about it. Their “benefits” were starting to become an expectation, and that wasn't what they'd signed up for.

He was aware of near silence in the restaurant, of more than a dozen diners' eyes fixed on them. And now their
thing
had gone from totally clandestine to ragingly public.

She looked up at him. “What are you doing here?”

“Having dinner with my mom and Bill.”

“Aren't you forgetting someone?” Her gaze traveled past him briefly.

He didn't want to have this conversation in front of her siblings. “I didn't bring her, my mother did. Sara, I didn't know.”

“Is there something going on here?” Kyle asked, looking between Dylan and his sister.

“Apparently not,” Sara said. The hurt in her eyes twisted into Dylan's gut like a knife. She turned to Kyle. “I want to go home.”

“No problem.” He threw Dylan a look of disgust while he massaged Sara's shoulder.

Dylan stepped to the side in an attempt to catch her eye. “Can I take you?”

She pulled away from Kyle and strode from the restaurant.

Dylan caught up with her on the porch. “Sara, wait.”

She paused on the top step, but again was looking behind him. Dylan heard the door open and glanced over his shoulder. His mother.

“Where are you going, Dylan?”

“Mom, I need to leave.” He didn't bother masking the anger he'd been stifling since he'd arrived. “You shouldn't have brought a blind-freaking-date.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Sara moving toward the street. Tori and Kyle came onto the porch and pushed past his mom. Kyle shot him another dark look as he started down the stairs.

Fuck, this was an unmitigated disaster. Goddamn families. “Mom, I'm going.” He jogged down the stairs and followed the Archers to the sidewalk. Thankfully, they were walking away from the outside seating area so they would hopefully avoid any further scenes.

“What am I supposed to tell Tracy?” Mom called after him.

Dylan didn't bother turning around, just kept moving toward Sara, who was walking quickly along the sidewalk.

“Sara!” He called, running to catch up to her and passing her siblings in the process. He grabbed her hand. “Let me take you home, okay?”

She tried to pull away, but he kept his grip firm, yet gentle.

“Please?”

After a long moment, she nodded.

He knew Tori and Kyle were still behind him, and he turned and exchanged looks with them. They seemed skeptical, but didn't stop him. Dylan put his arm around Sara and walked her around the block to where his truck was parked.

He opened the door for her, but she turned and pierced him with a sizzling blue stare. “I just want to know one thing: Am I your only secret?”

S
ARA WATCHED THE
play of emotions on his face—surprise, distress, resignation. None of them told her what she wanted to know. She knew she didn't have the right to be jealous or upset. They'd agreed to friends with benefits, and there had been absolutely no discussion of exclusivity. Still, she didn't see how he could do the things he did with her, talk with her the way they did, or share the things they'd shared if he didn't care about her as more than a friend. It all felt like a lie, which was why she'd asked the question.

He took her hands and met her gaze with an intensity of his own. “You are my only secret. At least you
were
. A secret, that is.”

She nearly smiled at that. The proverbial cat was definitely out of the bag.

She climbed into his truck and waited for him to get in beside her. He put the key in the ignition, but didn't start the engine. Instead, he turned toward her. “Is there anything I can do for you right now?”

She felt itchy and twitchy and completely overstimulated, but there wasn't much to be done right now. She couldn't roll around on the floor or do wall pushups. That left joint compressions and muscle flexing. “You could compress my joints.” She held her left hand out. “Put your hands on my wrist and sort of squish the joint, like you're going to pull my hand off, and then push it back.”

He looked alarmed. “Pull your hand off?”

“Not literally. Just gently. You'll feel what I mean when you try it.”

He put his hands on hers and where his touch usually sparked need and desire, tonight it elicited a sense of comfort. He pulled on her hand and then pushed back. “I see. Is this right?”

She nodded. “Ten times. Then the other wrist. Then you can do my elbows.”

He finished with her left and moved to her right. “I'm sorry about what happened back there. My mom thought it would be great to set up a blind date and not tell me about it.”

“That doesn't sound fun.”

“It wasn't.” He finished with her wrist and moved to her elbow.

His hands were rough from his work, and tanned. She looked soft and pale next to him. “You don't talk about them much. Your family.”