Heartland (True North #7) - Sarina Bowen Page 0,41
nose lands against his flannel shirt.
My mouth is mere inches from his, of course. But this time he has no interest in kissing me. It takes all my willpower to give him a squeeze and then step back.
“Be well, Chass. I’ll leave you to your tutoring session, even if you’re basically cheating on me right now. But we’re still making caramels this weekend, right? I told Griffin we could use six gallons of goat’s milk. Don’t make a liar out of me.”
“I won’t,” I say quickly. I might be slightly irritated at him, but it will blow over. My capacity to forgive him for not loving me back is basically infinite. “We’ll leave right after Friday classes?”
“You got it. And this is for you. Share it with your friend.” He pulls something out of his pocket. “More market research.”
He puts a little box in my hand and then walks away.
As always, it takes me a second to get over my hormone rush. I stand there blinking for a long moment until I realize Ellie is grinning at me from the sofa. So I go back over to her and sit down.
“Wow…” she says, stealing a glance at Dylan’s retreating backside. “Is that hot hunk of Vermont male your algebra tutor?”
“Yes.” My voice is gravel.
“And your future ex-boyfriend?”
“Nope. I’ll never get that chance. He's my best friend, but...” There's no tidy explanation.
“But you want more. I would if it were me.”
I nod, miserable.
“How deep in the friend zone are you?” she asks.
“What?”
“The friend zone. Does he flirt with you? Because that might be a good sign. Or are you so far into the friend zone that he farts on you for sport?”
“Ew.” I shudder. “Not that last thing. But he’d never flirt with me. He only dates shiny girls. You know—slick girls with good clothes and the right makeup.”
“Ah,” says Ellie knowingly. “I’ll bet it’s not their clothes. It’s probably the confidence.”
“Probably,” I admit. Dylan doesn’t care very much about money and bling. But confidence is just as unattainable to me as money. “I think he likes sophistication.”
Ellie squints. “He is a farm boy, right? The work boots are a tell.”
“Sure.”
“Then he’s looking for excitement that he doesn’t think he can get at home. Vermont girls need not apply.”
God, I suppose she’s right. Maybe it’s not personal. But that doesn’t make it easier. “I just wish I could shut it off. I want to stop caring.”
“Or you could just tell him how you feel?”
“No!” I recoil in horror. “That’s never happening.”
“Too embarrassing?” Ellie tucks a frizzy bit of hair behind her ear.
At first I nod. But then I shake my head. “Embarrassment stinks, but it’s not the end of the world.” And I’ve been embarrassed a million times. “I don’t want to lose him. If he pities me, or if I make it awkward, he’ll back away. It’s just not worth it.”
“I get it.” She gives me a sad smile. “He brought you a present?”
“Yeah.” I look down at the box in my hand and tug on the ribbon. “We have this project where we’re making candies to sell at Christmastime. So he keeps buying examples for market research.” I open the box and find two perfect chocolates inside.
“Fancy,” Ellie says. “No hot guy ever bought me chocolates. At least you’ve got that.”
I offer her the box. “There’s one for each of us.”
“Really?”
“Sure.” I take one and then encourage her to do the same.
The chocolate bursts against my tongue. It’s filled with a soft, almost liquid caramel. It’s delicious.
But all I really want is more of Dylan’s kisses.
Seventeen
Dylan
The weekend had been sunny and bright, with a cool yellow sun warming the farm. Chastity and I had made up our big batch of samples. And I put in a lot of face time with the animals and my brother. In that order.
Having survived the anniversary of my father’s death made me more cheerful and less responsive to Griffin’s questions and prodding. I mostly tuned him out, even when he suggested I become a veterinarian because “the vet bill is killing us.”
I told him I’d consider it, just to see what he’d say.
“It’s a lot of extra years in school, though,” was his response. I could almost hear him adding up the tuition bills in his head.
I don’t know what that man wants from me. I really don’t. He spent four years at Boston University. And how many of Dad’s cows had he milked on the weekends? Zero.