Heartland (True North #7) - Sarina Bowen Page 0,19

takes time and heat.”

“Nobody said I was a patient man.” I turn on Leah’s speaker and play some music from my phone. I take another turn at the stove. The kitchen is warm, and the air is beginning to smell sweet.

Leah pokes her head in the door. “Can you two stop for dinner?”

“Dylan could,” Chastity says. “But someone has to stir, so it doesn’t scorch.”

“I could make you both a tray,” she offers.

“That’s a great idea,” I say, passing the spoon to Chastity. “Let me help.”

I follow Leah into her farmhouse. “Hi, Dylan!” her preschooler says from her booster seat at the table.

“Hey, shorty.” I ruffle the little girl’s hair. “How’s business, Isaac?”

“Can’t complain,” he says from his dining chair. “Awful nice of you to help Chastity like this. We’re grateful for all that you do for her.”

I just shrug. “You know me, Isaac. I’m not really that nice a person. But I like caramel as much as the next guy.”

He laughs, but it’s just the truth.

Leah loads two plates up with chicken, homemade mac and cheese, and salad. And while she does that, she quizzes me. “Do you think Chastity is doing okay in her classes? Can she pass algebra?”

“Yeah,” I say. “She probably can. It’s all new material for her, but she can get it. And she loves that business class.”

Leah glances toward the door, as if making sure that Chastity can’t overhear her. “I shouldn’t have pushed her to go full time. If it doesn’t work out, I’ll feel terrible.”

“It’s only been a few weeks,” Isaac says from the table. “Give it a little time?”

“I know,” Leah agrees, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “But next semester she has to take five courses to maintain her status as a full-time student.”

“Because of her scholarship?” I ask.

Leah’s head bobs. “She can’t get room and board if she’s part time. I should have steered her toward community college. I just got so excited about the financial aid package.”

I pick up the loaded tray in two hands. “Thank you for dinner, Leah. And try not to worry, okay? She doesn’t have to make the dean’s list. It’s all good.”

“Okay.” She gives my arm a squeeze. “You’re a great friend, Dylan.”

I thank her again and carry the tray outside and into the creamery. Chastity is humming to herself and stirring the pot slowly. It still looks like a bunch of nothing, but I won’t be a dick and point that out.

I finish my food in record time, but Chastity is still stirring. “Let me do that,” I say. “You eat.”

She switches places with me and tucks into her food. “Oooh. I love Leah’s cornbread.”

“Same.” And I knew that already, so I left the bigger piece for her.

“Would it jinx us to talk about our branding?” she asks.

“Probably.” I look into the pot of bubbling goo and notice that the color is richening. So that’s something. “What are you going to call this candy empire, anyway?”

“I have no idea.”

“Naming stuff is the hardest part. How about North Hill Caramels? That sounds a little uptight. Chastity’s Chews?”

“No!” Her pretty face fills with horror. “We’re not naming them after me. I have literally the least sexy name in the world.”

I don’t know why, but this makes me snort with laughter. “There’s nothing wrong with your name.”

“Are you high? Do you know anyone younger than eighty-five named Chastity? It’s a name that literally tells a guy to peddle it elsewhere.”

And now I’m dying, because Chastity never talks about sex. But she has a good fucking point.

My phone rings, and Chastity squints at me. “Is that Kaitlyn calling?”

“Probably.”

“Answer it,” she says, putting down her fork. “Or she’ll just call back.”

I suppose that’s true. I hand Chastity the spoon. “Check it out—the goo is actually getting thicker.”

“Of course it is.” She shoos me toward the door. “Go now while we still need ten more degrees.”

I step outside and answer the second time Kaitlyn calls. “What’s up, baby? Having fun?”

“I love Kahlua!” she shrieks. “I am going to marry it.”

“Are you, now?” I smile into the phone. A drunk Kaitlyn is a fun Kaitlyn. “How’s the poetry?”

“Horrible!” she says with obvious glee. “One guy rhymed flipperless with clitoris.”

“Oh Jesus.” I laugh. “That bad, huh?”

“He was one of the better ones.” She hiccups. And then she spends the next ten minutes recounting the horrors of the poetry slam. “If you come home right now you can hear Rickie try to rhyme. He says he’s gonna rhyme penis with