The Merriest Magnolia (Magnolia Sisters #2) - Michelle Major Page 0,27
She was talking about Sam, and Dylan was caught up in a daydream of his own lascivious imagination.
“Your plans don’t align with what I want to do in town,” he said, trying to keep his emotions out of the conversation. Hard to do when everything involving this town and this woman made him feel things he hadn’t in years.
Her gorgeous mouth turned down at the corners. “You’re wrong.”
“I’m never wrong.”
“Dylan,” she whispered, and his name on her lips took him back to another time and place. “Please.”
And didn’t that just about slay him?
“What do you expect from me, Carrie?”
“You committed to working on the holiday festival with me,” she reminded him gently.
“So I could prove what a stupid idea it was.”
“Always offering up the positivity,” Sam called out sarcastically. “Gonna give Tony Robbins a run for his money.”
Dylan blew out a laugh. He’d given the boy a book by the famed life coach but never dreamed the kid would read it. The fact that he had made Dylan’s heart clench.
“Just give it a chance,” Carrie urged. “You’ll see how amazing Magnolia can be without all your plans for changing it.”
“The festival plan is actually kind of cool,” Sam added.
As much as Dylan wanted to say no, he couldn’t deny either of them. This silly holiday event was the first thing other than his phone or video games that Sam had shown interest in since Dylan became his guardian.
Of course, Dylan still believed his plan for the town was a better choice, but not much happened in real estate and construction over the holiday season. It wouldn’t hurt to postpone the start of what he wanted to do. He could line up a crew and all of the subcontractors in order to hit the ground running in January.
“Well?” Carrie prompted in that soft voice that drove him crazy.
“Fine,” he told her, ignoring his body’s reaction to the huge grin she gave him. “But it doesn’t change my feelings about what’s best for the town.”
“Or the fact that you’re the bad guy in this scenario,” she agreed a little too readily. “Every good story needs one.”
“So that they can get their butt kicked,” Sam said, smoothing a hand over the paper in front of him.
“The only person who’s going to do the butt kicking is me if you sneak out again.” Dylan turned toward the drafting table where Sam sat. The scent of vanilla and lemon lingered in the air, as if Carrie infused every inch of this space. Of course Sam would be happier spending time with her. How could anyone resist her sweet spirit?
Tamping down that thought, Dylan leveled a hopefully parental stare at Sam. “No more leaving without a note or some communication.”
“I thought you’d be happy to be rid of me for a while,” the boy grumbled.
Dylan hated that the kid still saw himself as a burden, although he understood it. According to the therapist, it was normal for Sam to test Dylan’s commitment. “How can I enjoy my free time if I have to worry about you?” he asked casually.
Carrie elbowed him in the ribs then seemed to relax when Dylan winked at her, and Sam only gave another eye roll.
“Just so I’m clear on the situation,” the boy said, his gaze darting between the two of them. He pointed toward Carrie. “You want the festival to help put Magnolia on the map as some kind of picture-postcard getaway.”
Carrie nodded. “Yes.”
“Like the creepy paintings your dad did,” Sam continued.
“Seriously?” Dylan asked, shaking his head.
Carrie only laughed. “I don’t think creepy is the word I’d choose to describe them.”
“Creepy for sure,” Sam told her. “Like demented Norman Rockwell.”
“Do you have any semblance of a filter?” Dylan demanded of the boy, even though in his heart he might agree. At first glance Niall Reed’s paintings were sappy and sentimental but knowing what Dylan did about the man and the choices he made in his own life, the depiction of an idyllic outlook on American culture definitely bordered on perverse.
“I saw some of your old stuff,” Sam told Carrie, ignoring Dylan. “I didn’t put it together the other day when we met that you were the artist. Dylan hung it all over his properties in Boston. You were way better than your dad.”
Dylan could have hugged the boy. And Carrie for that matter. She needed to hear that she had talent. He imagined he’d made her angry by buying her paintings but hadn’t been able to resist.