Waylaid (True North #8) - Sarina Bowen Page 0,74

heat and the utilities. This summer’s renters paid the taxes.”

He tosses a stick into the bin. “Daphne hasn’t said she’s in. So you’ll have to do the math again, right?”

“Maybe?” I shrug. “I probably don’t need to, though. We’re talking small sums, here.”

“Okay.” Dylan rubs the back of his neck. “But you still haven’t cashed those checks? I'll take the low rent deal so long as you take a paycheck this summer. We're still coming out ahead."

"Yeah, okay. Fine." I turn around and crouch down to remove the sleeve from an apple tree.

“One more question,” Dylan continues. “I want to know if you think this is crazy. But what would you say if I told you I was thinking of proposing?”

My hand stops halfway to grabbing an apple out of the grass. My first thought is: that's ridiculous. You’re too young to get married. But after a few seconds tick by, I realize that Dylan’s situation isn’t the same as mine. And he doesn’t need to hear that kind of negativity from his friends.

I close my fingers around the apple and stand up. "Honey, I didn’t know you felt this way about me. I'm flattered but I don’t think I'm ready to take this big step with you.”

Dylan looks heavenward.

“Sorry,” I chuckle. “I’m a little surprised, but also not. Anyone could see that you guys will end up together. Why now?”

“Because I just don't see the point of waiting. And Chastity doesn’t really have any family of her own, you know? I want to give her that. She deserves to feel like a full member of the team.”

Well that’s just humbling. And now I’m glad I kept my trap shut. “Guess you'd better start saving up for a ring.”

“That’s actually the biggest kink in this plan,” he says with a shake of his head. “There's this jewelry store in Montpelier that uses all Vermont designers. I figure the rock doesn’t have to be huge if it's nicely done, right?” He winces.

“Dylan, this may come as a shock to you. But Chastity's not into you for your vast fortune.”

He barks out a laugh. “Okay, yeah. That's a good point.”

“It’s the same reason I don’t rent out those bedrooms for a profit. I’m not willing to share a house with just anybody. I need people around me I can trust.”

Dylan gives me a sideways glance, before plucking another insect trap off a trunk. “Someday you'll make a great shrink.”

“Let's hope so,” I grunt.

“Don't you have to log in for your class now?”

“Crap.” I yank out my phone and check the time. “Yeah, sorry. I’d better run.”

“Go on. I'll see you at lunch.” Dylan waves me off.

I grab my shirt and my water bottle and jog through the orchard toward the farmhouse. I make it up to my room on time, and log in before the professor starts the lecture.

While I'm waiting, I sign all three of the checks from Shipley Farms, then use my banking app to deposit them. It's about 2400 dollars all told.

That done, I settle in to listen. But the lecture bores me almost from the first minute. Maybe it's my piss-poor attitude, or maybe it's the on-screen disconnect. But my mind wanders, and I find myself searching the interwebs for a jewelry store in Montpelier that specializes in local artisans.

It's not difficult to find. So I call them up and purchase a gift certificate for a Mr. Dylan Shipley in the amount of two thousand dollars. And the moment the confirmation email comes through, I forward it to Dylan.

“This is for you, bro. And by the way—I finally cashed those checks.”

Twenty-Eight

Daphne

This week, Thursday dinner is at our friends’ house in Montpelier. Sophie and Jude like to host every few months, and the Shipley clan always caravans over there to make it happen.

But Rickie begs off and stays home.

There’s something up with him. I can tell. But I can’t seem to get him alone for a minute to ask. Whenever I walk into a room, he walks out of it.

He’s basically playing the same game I was a month ago. I avoided him like the black plague for the month of June, even when he smiled at me. Especially then.

I’m trying hard not to take it personally. My gut says that he isn’t suddenly tired of me—that there’s something else going on. Those dark smudges under his eyes are new, along with the weary look on his face.

But it’s so easy for all my old insecurities to sneak up

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