Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 27657 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27657 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
There’s a small entryway at the front door that leads to a good-sized living room with a door to the kitchen space. There’s no furniture, obviously, but I’m picturing exactly what kind of chairs I want. The kitchen is sparse, missing all its electrics and sporting a nice big hole where a sink should be. Oh well.
The staircase is intact though, and there’s a cupboard beneath that will be perfect for coats and shoes. The stairs creak under my shoes as I head up them. The bathroom is in better shape, with a working toilet and shower. There’s two bedrooms, one of which I plan to convert into an office to work from.
Sure the cottage is old and a little—well a lot—worse for wear, but I can practically feel the potential emanating from the floorboards. I dance around on the landing, spinning in circles and grinning up at the ceiling.
I nearly fall straight on my ass when a voice calls out from downstairs.
“Hello?”
“Coming!” I shout back, rushing back down. I don’t know who would be here right now, but maybe it’s a curious local coming to see who was insane enough to buy this place. I smile at the thought and skid to a halt at the bottom of the stairs.
My heart nearly falls right out of my damn body.
Because it’s not a curious local or dog walker coming to check out the place at all.
No, standing in my doorway, taking up the entire damn space with his huge shoulders, is Dylan.
“Oh my god,” I stutter before I can catch myself, eyes widening as I take him in. He’s here. Like, really here. Holy shit, he looks even better in person than he does in his photos. Am I drooling? I think I’m drooling. Come on, Dahlia, remember how to act human!
“Dahlia?” Dylan says, dark brows furrowed as he looks me up and down curiously. I swear I feel his gaze like a physical touch on my skin.
“That’s me,” I squeak, feeling my face burn. Act normal! I think desperately, but this man has stolen every logical thought from my head.
“Jesus, last time I saw you, you were…” Dylan shakes his head, his hair falling over his face with the movement. He runs his hand through it, tugging at the strands. Dear god, it should be illegal for that to be so hot. “Now you’re…”
I clear my throat, trying to remember how to speak properly. I smile, hoping I don’t look as flushed and nervous as I feel as I answer him. “All grown up.”
2
DYLAN
“Harry?” I ask, holding the phone up to my ear.
He’s one of my oldest and closest friends, but that doesn’t mean we speak a lot. I don’t speak a lot to anyone, especially since I moved over here ten years ago. I don’t miss the hustle and bustle of the city at all. These quiet, peaceful hills fill a space inside me that my birthplace never could.
“Dylan, good to know you’re alive, man,” Harry jokes over the phone, and I roll my eyes even though he can’t see me.
“What do you need?”
“Grumpy as ever I see,” Harry says, used to my gruff directness. “You still in that tiny town in Scotland?”
“Yes.” Why is he asking? I frown, pushing my hair away from my face and stepping out of the garage into the sun. I’m covered in sawdust, and if he’s going to insist on a conversation, I may as well get some fresh air while I deal with it.
“Well, you’ll never guess why I’m asking,” Harry continues, and I grunt in answer. “Dahlia bought a house out there, an old cottage that needs a hell of a lot of work. She wants to renovate it.”
“Dahlia?” I ask, standing up straighter. “Your kid sister?”
“The very one. Though she’d kill me if she heard me calling her a kid now.” He laughs. “Apparently being twenty-one means she knows everything about life.”
My mind reels. Harry’s sister is nearly twenty years younger than us, and he’d been shocked when he became a brother at seventeen. Given how close he and I were, I was around a lot when she was born. But Christ… When I left, she was some shy little bookish kid with pink glasses who barely came out of her room. She must’ve been…what…eleven?
“Jesus, it’s been a while,” I mutter, coming to terms with the little girl from my memory being old enough to buy a damn house. As a matter of fact… “Why the fuck did she buy a house over here?”
“Hell if I know, man, but I’m trying to be supportive here. She wants to have an adventure or find herself or whatever.”
“Isn’t that what college is for?”
“She outright rejected the mere idea of college.” Harry snorts. “Smarter than me by a fucking long shot, but nope, Dahlia decided flying across the world to some shitty little house was a better idea. Whatever. Anyway, look, that's why I’m calling.”