Rylee
Thursday
As Rylee set off next to Dakota, he reached for her bag and slung it over his shoulder. She noticed right off that he took her elbow and steered her to his left side so that he walked closest to the street.
She wanted to reach her hand into the crook of his arm or hold his hand.
But that would be weird, right? She reproved herself. After all, they’d met like ten seconds before.
And yet, it was so nice to be walking with him, like this.
Calming.
“Tank always walks to my left.” Dakota’s voice was deep and resonant, and it rumbled through her body, shaking away the sticky parts of her day, letting them waft away in the breeze that was kicking up now that twilight was descending. “I’m sorry if he’s bumping you.”
“No worries,” Rylee said.
“We just met, and I don’t know if you’re comfortable driving with a virtual stranger. I’m not offended in the least if that’s the case. Up the street, there’s a guy who does really delicious Mediterranean out of a food truck, and there are benches nearby. Or two blocks around the corner, there’s a place that has a bit of everything on its menu. They have outdoor seating and heat posts. I can’t go into a restaurant with Tank.”
“I’m okay getting in a car with you.” Rylee liked the way he was handling this. No pressure. No agenda. “Neesa knows where I am, and Jasper would kick your ass if anything happened to me, so I’m not worried.”
“I was at the bar and saw the outcome of your skills last night. You would kick my ass. Jasper needn’t be involved.”
That was laughable. If Dakota were a bad guy, she’d have zero shot at self-protection.
But Rylee felt not even the slightest pang, didn’t see even the tiniest red flag.
Quite the opposite. Rylee was so comfortable with Dakota that she’d better watch her Ps and Qs. They were, as he pointed out, strangers. And the warmth she sensed between them was collegial.
Tank pranced along between them, his head lifted and his snoot sniffing. Rylee thought she could smell it, too, the hope that rides the air just before the leaves unravel their bright spring green.
“Neesa said you were with the Navy?” Dakota asked.
“Marine medic.”
“On the battlefield, huh? No wonder the shithead in the bar didn’t phase you.” She felt his gaze on her and looked up to find worry in his eyes. “Let me amend that. From the outside, it looked annoying, but you handled it, and it didn’t mess you up. But that might have been your public face, and you might well have felt something different. Are you okay?”
“I am. You read it right. I’m glad to bring accountability to public gropers. And at the same time, I would rather not have to deal with it. I went home because I wasn’t in the mood for a crowd. I had only planned to have a beer and leave. He didn’t run me out or ruin my evening.”
They came to a stop at the corner, waiting for the light to turn green.
“You’re craving chicken soup?” Dakota asked.
“Absolutely not,” Rylee laughed. “That is the last thing I would want to eat tonight. Neesa was giving me a hard time about finding a surgical glove.”
He lifted his elbow, an offer to lean on him for stability as they stepped off the curb; it was smooth and gentlemanly. Not the look-at-me kind of gentlemanly that expected some type of reward for the performance, but an easy, natural gesture that was an invitation, not a demand.
In fact, Rylee was a little stunned by the whole Dakota Kayne thing going on.
Rylee slid her hand into place; his skin was warm against her tingling, chilly fingers. He covered them over with his hand. “I’ll get the heat going as soon as we get to my car. You’re braver than I am, paddling this early in the season.”
Which was ridiculous. The man spent days lying in the pounding surf on Coronado Beach, proving that he’d never give up.
“Chicken soup.” Dakota chuckled as they walked along. “I think I got the imagery. If you were pulling a hand out of the water. Yeah,” he shook his head, still laughing, “that’s dark humor there.”
“Gallows.”
“You do what you have to do to stay sane, right?” he asked.
