Georgia on Her Mind(29)

He laughs, cupping his mug between his hands, elbows resting on his knees. “I gave up torturing last year.”

“Really? The bike business is that good?”

He grins. “It’s getting there, but I’m also doing some bronze and pewter sculpting. I have a few large sculpture commissions this year.”

I’m shocked. I’d always pictured Dylan as the steady job, Toyota or Honda kind of man. Leaving teaching for the elusive world of art shows guts and belief in himself. If possible, he’s soared even higher in my admiration stratosphere. At this rate, I’ll never reach his heights. “It must feel great to follow your dreams.”

He leans my way. “I learned it from you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

The phone rings before I can think of a snappy reply. I step to the kitchen, where I left the cordless.

“You made it home.” It’s Lucy.

“I did.”

“Did you call a cab?”

“No.” I peek at Dylan from the kitchen. He smiles and nods. I duck behind the wall and lower my voice.

“Someone’s here. I can’t talk now.” I hang up before she can say another word. I don’t want to tell her about tonight over the phone. Besides, she’s got a secret—so do I.

Back to the sofa and Dylan. When I sit, my leg touches his. Did he move? Am I in the right spot? All my nerve endings are snapping and firing at once.

“I like your sunburn,” he says, his voice reminding me of melted chocolate.

“Th-thank you.” I giggle with an awkward quiver. “It was an accident.”

“Usually is.” He slides a little closer.

I can’t breathe. Is he going to kiss me? I think he might kiss me. Why are all the colors in the room fading to purple?

His hand lands on mine. His thumb strokes my fingers and I’m sure the tingle in my right arm is indicative of the heart attack I’m about to have.

I want him to kiss me, I think. Ever since eighth grade I’ve wanted him to kiss me.

But oh, please, don’t kiss me. I don’t know if I’ll survive. What kind of kiss would it be? Just for fun? Just for friends? A kiss to begin? A kiss to end? Dylan’s visit can’t mean anything, really it can’t. He lives in Beauty. I live here.

I can’t believe this. I want a dissertation before a simple stupid kiss. No, no! It’s not a simple stupid kiss. It’s a kiss from him—Dylan.

His eyes search mine. Is he asking for permission? How do I make my eyes give him an answer? Right eye say yes, left eye say no.

“Macy…” he starts.

Yes. No. Yes. No.

“Dylan,” I say, grabbing his hand. “I—”

The phone rings and I pop up off my seat like a jack-in-the-box. “Excuse me. Ph-phone.”

“So I hear.” Dylan eases against the back of the couch, his shirt unable to hide his muscular frame. He has a come-hither look on his face.

My knees buckle when I try to walk and I have half a mind not to answer. Let the machine get it. No! What if it’s Lucy? What if she starts talking about Austin? Better answer.

I bark, “Hello?” I’m half out of my mind with indecision.

“Hello, Macy, it’s Elaine.”

I soften my tone and come to my senses in an instant. “Mrs. Woodward? Are you okay?”

“The pain is real bad this time. Can you come over?”

I look at Dylan. Her timing is incredible. “Sure, I’ll be there.”

She moans and hangs up. Elaine Woodward, like it or not, just shot a dose of reality into my heart’s fantasy.

I tell Dylan, “My neighbor isn’t feeling well and wants me to come over. She lives alone.” I slip on my flip-flops.

He stands, his brow furrowed in genuine concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Not sure, but she’s going to the doctor next week if I have to throw her over my shoulder and haul her there myself.”

“Can I help?” He stands close, regarding me.

“I don’t think so, but thanks. I’m sorry we got interrupted.”

“Me, too.” He runs his hand over his blond hair. Is it possible he’s more handsome than he was a few weeks ago?

I smile. “I’m glad you came.”

“You’re still planning to emcee our reunion, aren’t you?”

A brick of disappointment hits me. Is that why he came down? Is that why he leaned my way? I’m waiting for “can I kiss you” and he’s thinking “are you still the emcee?”

Figures. There will never be a Macy Moore-Dylan Braun romance. Never.

“I said I would, so I will,” I hear myself say.

“Good.” He smiles, hesitates, then steps toward the door.

I grab my house keys and walk out with Dylan.

“Which way you heading?”

I motion. “Right there. One door down and over.”

“I’ll walk with you.”

“Thanks again for coming down,” I say when we stop at the edge of Mrs. Woodward’s walkway.

“Thanks for having me.” He reaches for my hand. I’m trembling from the cold, or perhaps his touch, but either way if I speak my teeth will clatter like old bones. He hugs me for a good long second, kisses my forehead and says, “I’ll see you soon.”