Gypsy King (Tin Gypsy, #1)(102)

“Breakfast?” He went to the fridge. “What will it be today? More cereal? Or I can make fried eggs and bacon.”

I scrunched up my nose. Just the thought of fried-egg-and-bacon-grease smell made my sensitive stomach turn. I needed bland. Carbs were my friends in the morning. “Cheerios, please.”

“Cheerios,” he grumbled but got out a bowl for me and one for himself.

We settled at a custom, farmhouse-style table in the dining room off the kitchen. It looked like a fancy picnic table with chairs instead of benches.

“Any word from your dad?” I asked.

He shook his head, swallowing a bite of cereal. “Nothing. But if something comes up, he’ll call.”

“Damn.” We’d tried so hard to prove Draven was innocent. Now it looked like whoever had orchestrated this whole thing would win.

I hated losing.

Dash did too.

“Did Genevieve text you back?” he asked.

“Nope.” I dropped my spoon into my cereal bowl. She was beginning to irritate me with her silence.

Whatever was going on between Isaiah and Genevieve, they weren’t talking. She’d moved into his apartment, and rumor had it, he’d spent a night or two in the motel.

He’d asked Dash if he could keep his job, apologizing for skipping out without a word. Dash, of course, had cut him some slack and let him stay on because Isaiah was a good guy and a good mechanic. I’d hoped that Dash would have more luck with Isaiah than I had with Genevieve, but Isaiah was arguably worse when it came to opening up. He came to the garage every day, worked hard with as few words as possible, then left as soon as his shift was over.

Meanwhile, Genevieve was gone each morning when we got to the garage and didn’t return until after we’d left for the evening. She also wasn’t returning my calls or my texts.

I’d wear her down eventually. They couldn’t keep their secret forever, could they? At some point, they’d have to tell us what had happened on that mountain, right?

But for today, I was pushing it from my mind.

I finished my cereal, then turned my gaze to the enormous bay window that overlooked Dash’s backyard. The sun was shining. The grass was green. Under a bright blue sky, it was a peaceful corner of the world.

Dash had a sprawling deck with his hot tub off to one side. The lawn was wide and deep with a tall privacy fence to keep it cozy, even though he didn’t have neighbors. An open field sat behind his yard. There was a small creek flowing through the middle and one lush grove of trees.

“How many acres do you own?” I asked Dash.

“Twenty. I wanted some space from the neighbors.”

It was secluded but not remote. Close to town for convenience but away from the bustle. “Did you buy this house? Or have it built?”

“Had it built about three years ago.”

I stood from the table, taking my bowl to the kitchen sink, then slowly wandered down the hallway that ran in the opposite direction from his bedroom. I’d explored some while I’d been here, but today I wanted more than a superficial glance to get my bearings.

The hallways were wide, the doors clean and white. The floors were a dark wood with rugs in a few rooms to soften them up.

“It’s very . . . stylish,” I told Dash as I walked, him trailing close behind. “Not what I would have expected from you.”

“I shelled out a fucking fortune to get a designer in here to make it stylish. Mostly, I wanted nice shit that would last and was comfortable. Some of the stuff she picked I had to veto, but otherwise, it turned out just right.” He came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders.

I traced my fingers along a tattoo on the inside of his wrist. It was the one tattoo I hadn’t asked about yet, a date blocked in black letters. “What’s this tattoo?”

“Mom’s birthday. It was my first tattoo. Got it when I turned eighteen. I celebrate on that day every year. Make a chocolate cake. Candles.”

“I bet she’d love that.”

“Yeah.” He pressed his cheek to the top of my head. “Glad you’re here.”

“Me too. I like your house.”

“Good.” He hugged me tighter, then let me go to turn me around. “Come check this out.”

We turned and retreated down the hallway, making our way toward his bedroom on the opposite end of the house. But instead of turning into his room like I’d expected, he opened a door to the office across the hall.

The desk in the corner was empty, nothing like the mess he had at the garage. The window on the side faced the front of the house. Outside the window was a bush full of white blooms.

Dash walked into the middle of the room. “How about this for a nursery?”

“Uh . . .” A nursery? Did I hear that right? I’d expected him to offer this room up for work, not a room for the baby.

We hadn’t talked about the baby all week. I hadn’t wanted to push it. I’d wanted to give him—both of us—some time for the concept to really sink deep. We had months to discuss a nursery. We didn’t even know if we were having a boy or girl yet.

“I’ll move the desk and stuff to one of the spare rooms. Or downstairs. I don’t use it much anyway. We can get a crib or bassinette or whatever you want. It’s right across the hall from our room. And—”