Tiger Lily - May Dawson Page 0,11

doesn’t seem to notice. For some reason, it made me think of Dylan, who was always so casually sexy—and so oblivious to the impact he had on everyone around him. Including me.

I wondered what made this princess so special.

Oh look—there it was on the page. I found myself daydreaming as I stared at the page, propping my cheek on my hand.

“Why are you still here?” I demand. “I’m not the easiest girl to love.”

“Maybe not,” he says, caging me against the wall with his arms. I look up at him, heart beating wildly…but is it because we’re fighting?

Or because I can’t stop staring at his lips?

“But I don’t need for this thing between us to be easy,” he says, his gaze fixed on mine intently. “I just need you.”

He leans in for the kiss, and my lips part to welcome him…

I snapped the book closed. Yeah, I wish. In real life, prickly girls ended with a trashed apartment and a grandfather who wanted them to move home because they couldn’t survive on their own. I rested the book on my forehead. Maybe I could osmose a happy romance.

I needed coffee.

And a fresh start.

But I could definitely have the coffee. Coffee, at least, was a reasonable goal.

When I started to make breakfast, I found a bunch of boxes of stale cereal in my grandfather’s cluttered pantry. One thing turned into another, and the next thing I knew I still hadn’t managed to eat a Pop-Tart, but I was knee-deep in the bags of clutter I was sorting.

My grandfather walked into the kitchen, then turned and walked right back out again.

“Oh no, get back in here, old man,” I called after him. “You can work that coffee maker one-handed, and I need coffee for this. What happened here? Some of these cans are older than you are.”

“That’s ridiculous,” he scoffed. Then he added, “They hadn’t invented cans yet when I was born.”

He started coffee, then took a seat at the kitchen table, watching me as I dumped out half the contents of his pantry.

“I’ve got a clutter situation here,” he admitted, as if he were seeing it with new eyes. “I’m definitely going to have the easier end of things when I die. It’s going to suck for you, though.”

The easy way he talked about his own mortality made me want to huck the expired container of steel-cut oats in my hand at him. I hated the thought of losing him. Instead, I shook the oatmeal at him. “Have you ever actually eaten this?”

He squinted at it. “Squirrel food.”

“Then how did it end up in here?” I asked, dumping it into the bag.

“A friend told me I should try it. That I should eat healthier.”

“Oh? Is this Lasagna Friend?”

“I’m not talking about Lasagna Friend when you won’t talk to me about those boys down the street.”

I snorted. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“You should definitely snort like that around them. There really will be nothing to talk about.”

“You’re driving me crazy,” I told him.

“Then maybe you should take that job so you get out of the house.”

I rolled my eyes. “I have to go back to the city. Everything I own is there.”

“Everything important is in Silver Springs.”

“You’re very important to me, Grandpa, and you know that all too well. But what else is there in Silver Springs?”

He just smiled as if he knew something I didn’t.

After tackling his pantry, I moved on to cleaning the living room with him. He was surprisingly willing to purge. I was pleasantly surprised. Marie Kondo had nothing on me.

Then he looked around the living room, as I returned from dragging another box of discards onto the front porch. He nodded to himself, then said, “Looks like there’s room for you now.”

I quirked an eyebrow at him. “Um. I’m twenty-four.”

His forehead creased as he studied me. “Does that mean you have more stuff than when you were eighteen?”

“With this economy?” I asked him. “Nope, that’s not the takeaway. I’m twenty-four. I can’t live with my grandpa indefinitely.”

“Why not? I like having you here. You like being here.”

“You and I snipe at each other constantly.”

“And we both like it. Sarcasm is your love language.”

“That seems healthy,” I muttered. “I’m going to take your car to Goodwill and then the dump, okay? I’ve got to get all this stuff out of the house.”

“Go ahead,” he said. “If she’ll start for you. Maybe she will. Roberta always liked you best.”

“Maybe she prefers me because you bought a sexy convertible and