Tiger Lily - May Dawson Page 0,12

then named her Roberta.”

He laughed at that. “I had to keep her humble.”

“She’s not been starting?” I demanded. “How do you get to the doctor’s and grocery shopping—”

“Someone takes me, Lily,” he said patiently. “I’m not as young as I used to be. I don’t see very well driving at night. I actually drive under the speed limit now. It’s no good.”

I sighed at that. I couldn’t tell what was real and therefore sad, and what was a ploy to make me stay home with him forever.

“I sure do miss riding in my car with the wind in my hairs,” he said.

I quirked an eyebrow at the plural, right before he adds, “All eighteen of them.”

“I’m going to go see if the car will start,” I said. “It’s better than being stuck here with your bad puns and your magazine collection from the nineties.”

“You never know when you’ll want to re-read the TV Guides from a special year,” he told me.

A few minutes later, I slid into the white leather driver’s seat. My grandfather’s car was as spotless as ever, the wooden dash polished, and I ran my fingers over the steering wheel to say hello. Then, crossing the fingers of my left hand for luck, I stuck the key in the ignition and twisted.

“Please please please,” I said to Roberta, hoping for the engine to start and the radio to blare to life.

Sputter sputter die, Roberta said back.

As I waited to try again so I wouldn’t flood the engine, nostalgia rolled over me. I remember sitting in the passenger seat, my strawberry-blond curls flying in the breeze, wearing oversized aviator sunglasses.

When I was a gawky kid, I still always felt special and beautiful with my grandfather. I thought I was cool when we drove around in his car with the music cranked. He always had a gift for making me feel worthy. No matter how much we trade barbs, he’s only ever said words that built me up when it mattered.

And that’s amazing, because I could be pretty weird and annoying as a kid.

Maybe not just when I was a kid, to be honest.

I was still sitting in the car, reminiscing, when a black SUV pulled in the driveway. I get out of the driver’s seat.

When Dylan Frost unfolded his tall, powerful body out of the car, I said, “Really?” to the universe for what felt like the twenty-eighth time in two days.

6

Dylan wrapped me up in a big hug. I was not a hugger, but I couldn’t tell him that, because my face was pressed against his hard chest. Oh, he smells good. I couldn’t help being struck by his woodsy scent, and I was torn between trying to pull away to get some air and wanting to bury my face in his shirt and sniff.

As my toes lifted off the ground, I made a small horrified noise, but my arms closed around his lean waist.

Was I hugging him back or just surviving?

Dylan was like a giant teddy bear brought to life.

He laughed as he set me down, ruffling my hair. “I’ve missed you.”

“Paws off,” I said, but I couldn’t help but smile, stepping back and trying to smooth my hair back into place. “You know how cats are.”

“Anti-hug?”

Actually, now that Dylan had retreated, I missed that hug. “I’m not anti-hug but I don’t really like touching strangers.”

“We’re not strangers. We went to kindergarten together. We survived high school together.”

“And you didn’t learn anything there, apparently.” When we were in kindergarten, he hugged me on the playground when I was in a bad mood because Annalie Barker had swiped my cookie at lunch. I’d laid him out with my right hook under the monkey bars.

“I think you didn’t learn anything in kindergarten,” he returned. He ruffled my hair with one hand, which I didn’t like either, and I scowled at him. His forearms were corded, a nice match with his wide, tattooed biceps as he finally stuck his hands in his pockets. “What were the rules? Be nice—”

“Keep your hands to yourself,” I interrupted.

He flashed me the same undisturbed grin he’s given me during every silly fight since kindergarten.

He had a really nice grin, one that crinkled the corner of his green eyes and brought out dimples under his chiseled cheekbones. Even back in elementary school, other girls always had crushes on him. In high school, he was Mr. Popular.

It wasn’t just his good looks. He’d always been so nice.

My friends in high school used to jostle my