Gypsy King (Tin Gypsy, #1)(68)

Dressed in a pair of jeans, tennis shoes and a T-shirt, I walked toward the bedroom door, ready for coffee, but hesitated when I glimpsed Dash. Should I say goodbye? Or just leave?

He was probably asleep. Not snoring now that I was on my way out.

“Bryce.”

“Yeah?” I whispered.

“Come here.”

I tiptoed around the bed, bending low. “What?”

“Kiss,” he ordered with his eyes closed. Those dark lashes were lying perfectly on his cheek.

I smiled, putting my hand on his forehead to push his mussed hair away before dropping my lips to his temple. “Bye.”

It was impossible to keep the smile off my face as I drove to the newspaper. Even with only a few hours of sleep, I was rested and fresh.

Dash and I had fallen into my bed last night, emotionally exhausted and full. He hadn’t made a move for sex. Neither of us had. He’d slept in his boxers. I’d pulled on a tank top and shorts. Then, with his hand slipped underneath the hem of my shirt, we’d fallen asleep.

His palm had stayed warm on my skin all night.

He’d probably be gone when I returned home. Dash had been hit by an emotional steamroller last night and needed time to work it all out. I only hoped he knew he could turn to me if he needed a sympathetic ear.

Last night, things had moved way past my story. This wasn’t about me anymore. Or Amina Daylee. Or Genevieve. Or even Draven. This was about Dash.

My feelings for him could no longer be ignored. When Dad asked me for a story on the Tin Gypsies, I’d tell him a lie. There wasn’t one worth printing.

A story wasn’t worth breaking Dash’s heart. He’d had enough of that in his life. He wouldn’t get more from me.

Coming through the rear entrance to the pressroom, I found Dad standing by the Goss. “Hi, Dad.”

“How’s my girl?” he asked as I kissed his cheek.

“Good. How’s it looking?”

He handed over the sample paper in his hands. “We’re about done. I’ve got one last run here. BK is working on the bundles.”

Scanning the front page, I smiled at the last of Willy’s articles about the railroad travelers. People had loved his segment, me included.

“It couldn’t have turned out better,” I told Dad. “I’ll go help out BK.”

After an hour of bundling papers and organizing them into stacks, we greeted the delivery drivers in the loading dock. Five parents with their five kids pulled into the parking lot about the same time. They’d be driving papers through town and the surrounding areas this morning.

Most of our subscribers would have their news before seven.

“What are you up to for the rest of the day?” Dad asked as he shut off a row of lights in the pressroom. BK had left already, making a few of his own deliveries before going home.

“Not much. I need to do laundry,” I grumbled. “What about you?”

“A nap. Then your mom wants to go out to Stockyard’s for dinner. You’re welcome to come along.”

“Thanks. We’ll see.” Which we both knew meant no.

I was cheeseburgered out. The thought of another made my stomach roll. The coffee I’d guzzled while bundling papers wasn’t sitting well either, probably from all the heavy food right before bed.

When I got home, I was going to make myself a piece of dry toast and hoped that it would soak up some of the residual grease.

“I have a couple new story ideas I want to run by you. Will you be in tomorrow?”

“Of course. By eight at the latest. We can talk about them then.” He hugged me and I waved as I walked for the door. “Bryce.”

“Yeah?” I turned.

“You’ve been quiet about the Tin Gypsies. Did you really give that up?”

“Turns out, there isn’t much to tell.” It was a relief. Dad wouldn’t pressure me to write the story, but by telling him I was letting it go, it gave me permission to do just that.

“All right. And the murder investigation? Has Marcus released anything new?”

“Not lately. I doubt there will be much until the trial. I’d like to do a memorial piece about Amina Daylee, but I think it’s too soon after the murder.” Too much was up in the air. “I’d like to give it some time.”

“Okay. Then I guess we’ll print happy news for a while. Not a bad thing.”

I smiled. “No, it’s not.”

“See you tomorrow.”

“Bye, Dad.” I waved again, then emerged outside, savoring the heat from the morning sun on my face. It was a strange time for a nap, but as I drove home, a wave of exhaustion crashed into me hard and I knew the second I made it home, I was going back to bed.

Toast would have to wait until I was fully awake.

With my car parked in the garage, I walked into the house, half asleep.

“Ahh!” I screamed. I clutched my heart, hoping it would stop trying to break free. “What are you doing?”

Dash dropped the towel he’d folded on top of the stack of others. “Laundry.”

“I thought you’d be gone.”

“Took a shower but couldn’t find a towel in the bathroom. So I went searching and got one from a laundry basket. Decided to fold that one. Then I found another. And another.”