Finally, his skin dripping with sweat, Clay stopped and put his hands on his hips, trying to catch his breath.
He saw a small movement out of the corner of his eye and turned his head to see Dylan leaning against the front fender of her car, her arms crossed over her chest.
"Feel better?" she asked.
He nodded and started stripping the wraps from his hands. He would need to wash them after the workout he just had.
After he unwrapped both his hands and tossed the material to the side, he walked over to the small fridge against the wall and grabbed a bottle of water.
Clay cracked open the lid and turned back toward Dylan as he drank. Once he was done, he lowered the bottle and said, "I'm sorry I yelled at you. None of this is your fault and I had no reason to take my anger out on you."
She blew out a long breath and he couldn't quite read the expression on her face. Her words surprised him, though.
"I'm sorry, too," she said. "I should have told you that he was texting me again. I just..." She paused to clear her throat before she continued. "It's just that I didn't want to talk about. I didn't want to think about it. Unfortunately, it's all I've been thinking about for the past week. Every time I turn around, I'm worried that he'll be standing there. Every time a man comes into the store or I see a man on the street, I wonder if he's the one who's following me and texting me." Dylan blinked rapidly as tears filled her eyes. "And the things he's been saying this week are so much worse than anything he's sent me before. It's scary as hell because I can tell that he's no longer just obsessed with me. He's disappointed and he's pissed. I'm terrified of what will happen if he gets his hands on me."
Clay moved toward her, then stopped when he realized how sweaty he still was. She met him halfway though, curling up against him for a hug even though he probably smelled like the troll he was.
"Just please don't yell at me like that anymore," she said.
"I really am sorry about that," he said. "I reacted badly."
She sniffled and he felt like an even bigger asshole than before.
"Don't cry," he said, patting her back gently.
"I'm not crying," she replied, her voice muffled. "I'm trying to decide if you smell like wet dog or swamp beast."
He released her and tried not to laugh as she made a beeline for the roll of shop towels he kept on his toolbox.
"I smell like a troll," he stated as she ripped off a handful of heavy paper towels to wipe her hands, arms, and face with. He walked over to the chair where he'd tossed his shirt and put it back on.
"Are you hungry?" she asked. "The bread should be ready soon and I was going to put together a beef stew in the Instant Pot."
"Let me wash up and I'll help." He walked over to her and cupped her slender shoulders in his hands. "Are we good?"
She stared up at him in silence for a long moment and his heart dropped into his belly. Finally, she answered, "Yeah, we're good. It isn't a normal dating situation here. Neither of us is used to having someone in our space all the time or sharing everything going on in our lives. This happened pretty damn fast."
"And that scares you?" he asked.
"Yeah. Doesn't it scare you?" she replied.
Clay shrugged. "Not really. I kinda like having you here. But I'm used to having bossy women in my life, telling me what to do, so you're actually relaxing to have around."
"You're lying," she said.
"Nope. You like to hang out with me but you don't expect me to give you every bit of my attention when we're together. You also like to do your own thing sometimes too, which means I can do my stuff. It's nice."
"Are you seriously the only man I've ever met who's not afraid of commitment?"
Clay nudged her toward the door that led back into the house, following behind her. "Oh, no. I'm afraid of commitment to the wrong person, but I don't think you're the wrong person."
"Gah!" she yelled, shocking him.
"What?" He grabbed her, whirling to put her behind him so he could protect her from whatever was in the house. Clay stared down the hallway, looking for threats.
"What are you doing?" she asked, thumping him between the shoulder blades with her tiny fist.
"You yelled. I thought someone got into the house and scared you."
