Chapter Eleven

Dylan

I don’t know why I’m so nervous.

Like, incredibly nervous.

Cade called before boarding his flight last night—a red eye, at that—and then he called a little over an hour ago when he finally landed in Reno. I’m expecting the ring of the gate at any moment.

I cleaned the kitchen and bathrooms. Changed the sheets in the second-best guest bedroom. I ordered groceries online at the butt-crack of dawn, then picked them up using one of the White’s extra cars three hours later.

None of that helped with the nervous energy coursing through my body.

I don’t understand why he wants to spend his days off set with me.

Well, I do.

Or rather, I hope.

But I shouldn’t.

Shouldn’t hope.

You’re in no position to hope, Dylan Tate O’Neill.

Still.

I hope.

And when the sweet chime of the gate being opened filled the house, I ignore the racing of my heart.

Silly, stupid heart.

I walk to the front door and slip into the pair of cheap flip flops I have there, before stepping outside to watch Cade’s truck come up the long driveway. With my arms crossed under my breasts, I probably look as closed off as I feel, but it’s the nerves and chill in the air. Because there’s no sense hiding that I’m pregnant, big belly or no belly, I chose to forgo my sweatshirt today, but in the shade of the giant trees in the front lot, it’s far colder out front than in the back.

Cade pulls the giant truck to a stop just outside the third bay of garages and is quick to shut the vehicle off.

From where I’m standing, I watch as he pushes his sunglasses to the top of his head and turns his head to look out the passenger window, straight toward me.

Then he flashes a smile, and I can’t help but return it.

Quickly, he’s climbing down out of his lifted truck and is making his way around the front. I move to meet him, even as he goes to the passenger door to pull out a backpack.

“How was your traveling? Okay? Not a bad layover?” I ask, even though I’m not really that great at small talk.

It makes things awkward.

Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to care.

“Long. Boring. Not a bad layover. Long enough to get real coffee.” He shoulders his backpack and shuts the door. “How are you?” I watch his eyes drop over me once and even though I know he knows I’m pregnant, I’m expecting him to stare and balk at my belly. The baby did some rearranging the last few days and he’s more obvious this weekend, compared to last. I stop myself from unfolding my arms and placing my hands protectively over the bump.

“I’m good. I was busy this morning.” I shrug, as if being busy is absolutely normal for a single girl in the middle of nowhere in an extra-large house.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” He actually looks concerned and I can’t help but smile.

“Nope. Nothing on my agenda. I had a midwife appointment for this guy,” I say, my hands finally moving to my stomach, “the other day. When I had my major meltdown. I’m sorry about that.” I watch as Cade moves closer and I have to force myself to stay in my spot. “But that’s the extent of my engagements,” I manage to add as he nears.

“No need to apologize. I get it.”

He stops in front of me and I search his eyes, trying to find the lies.

The deception.

And all I see is curiosity.

“So, why do you want to spend your weekend with me?” I ask bravely, tipping my chin up and crossing my arms again.

The action is comfortable.

Or, at the very least, comforting.

“You’re alone. I was alone. I want to get to know you.” He shrugs and gives me a half smile. “Makes sense, doesn’t it?”

His eyes roam over my face and I find myself smiling even though I want to hold myself back from this man; I want to protect myself from any potential dangers. “I suppose.” I turn on my heel and head toward the house. “I got a room ready for you. I wasn’t sure if you had one in mind, but I chose the one that overlooks the lake on the east end of the house. It’s my second favorite room.”

“And what one’s your first favorite?”

I can hear him right behind me and I throw a smile over my shoulder. “Why, the one I’m occupying. The one on the west that overlooks the lake. The one with the balcony.”

“Damn, I like that room.” His tone is clearly serious, but I can hear the hints of laughter.

“It’s a good room.”

“It is,” he agrees, and I think that maybe this won’t be such a bad weekend.

Not that I thought it would, but I was afraid of the awkward small talk.

I don’t think it will be so awkward, after all.

***

After Cade settles in, I futz around the kitchen. Unsure how long he’s going to take, I decide to make a batch of my grandma’s chocolate chip cookies, a recipe I’ve known by heart since I was ten years old.

I have a cookie sheet full of to-be bite-sized cookies in the oven when he makes his way downstairs.

Before he steps into the kitchen, I can smell that he showered.

The man smells divine.

“Sorry. Decided to wash the plane off me. Those things are a cesspool of germs. Whatcha’ making?”

“Cookies,” I set the timer as I tell him. When I turn, I see a perplexed look on his face. “What?”

“Are they small cookies? Like, two bite cookies?”

“I prefer one bite.”

“And have you made them for Charleigh?”

I nod, and his face breaks out in a huge smile, one that shows off laugh lines near his eyes. He’s only going to grow up to be even more handsome, if those little lines are a foreshadowing.

But men are like that.

They age like a fine wine.

“She’s passed them off as her own. Unless you’ve taught her.”

“That brat,” I laugh, shaking my head. “Nope. I’ve never taught her. It’s not a recipe that’s written down. It’s one you make by feel.”

“Feel?” He pulls out a stool at the breakfast bar and sits, his eyes locked on mine. He’s genuinely interested.

Nodding, I shrug. “Yeah. Feel. A handful of this, a pinch of that.” I shrug again. “By feel.” Realizing I’ve repeated myself—again—I dip my chin.

“Well, they’re fantastic, and I am in awe. I can’t even make a good burger without Google. I always end up using the wrong spices.”

Now I laugh. “How do you screw up a burger?”

“I don’t know, but I do.” He shrugs and the look on his face…

I could get used to looking at him.

“So,” I say, turning away to check on the timer. “These have ten-ish minutes.” I start to clean up my space, needing to keep busy when Cade is so near. “What did you have planned for today? I know you said you wanted to hang out, but surely there were other things you’d be interested in?”

“Nope. I’m interested in hanging out. Getting to know you, if you wanted to talk. If not, I’ll sit on the pier with you and tell you about me. It’s a boring tale but—”

“You raced motocross,” I said, looking at him over my shoulder. “There’s nothing boring to your story, I’m sure.”

“Did you Google me, Dylan?”

I bring my dishes to the sink before retorting, “I don’t know. Did you Google me?”

“Yes.”

I wasn’t expecting him to answer in such a fast, sure fashion, and he must catch my reaction because he laughs at whatever is on my face.

“Charleigh won’t tell me about you,” he says, as if that’s an explanation for him looking me up. “She’s very protective over you.”

“She really is a good friend.”

“She is.”

“I shouldn’t have doubted her.”

“You’re stressed.” He shrugs. “She’s forgiven you. And I think she’s forgiven me too.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

Cade shakes his head. “I told you, don’t be. I’m sorry that I made you uncomfortable and that whatever I did or said made you think I was after anything other than you being in the film. I wasn’t lying, Dylan. You’re a fantastic actress.”

Back to that.

Instead of fighting it again, I just thank him quietly.

“Do those cookies need you for anything special?” Cade changes the subject. “You can head out, relax, and I can take them out when they’re done. You made them. The least I can do is allow you to rest. Something tells me you’ve been on your feet all day.” His eyes scope out the room and I’m slightly uncomfortable with the knowledge that yes, I cleaned for him.

But what was I supposed to do?

Have him come stay in a dirty house?

Besides, cleaning is what super pregnant ladies do. I’ve been nesting in this house like crazy. And anytime I’m not cleaning, I’m carefully planning the baby’s nursery via Pinterest and that lovely ‘save Pin’ button. Charleigh is handling the rest.

“You don’t have to worry about—”

“Go.” He tips his head toward the sliding doors. “Relax.”

I’m the type who has a hard time letting go. My heart begins to race, and my eyes move from the oven, to Cade, to the door, to the oven again.

It’s incredibly clear that I need to relax.

I can’t keep up with this anxiety-driven need to move.

So, I nod.

“Okay. Thank you.” Before I can move too far though, I’m reminded of something. “You can’t leave them on the sheet when they’re done! The bottoms will burn.”

He nods, a smile that should be placating but isn’t, on his face. “I’ve got it. Go.”

I nod again, and head out.