Ramona winced. “Sorry.”
Dylan pressed her fingers to her temples. “I don’t know what my problem is.”
“Can I help?”
The offer was out of Ramona’s mouth before she could stop it, all her reliability coming back to bite her in the ass. But shecouldhelp Dylan. And in return…
Ramona swallowed hard. She wasn’t used to this sort of transactional kind of relationship, didn’t know how to even think about it without guilt splintering through her chest. It left her feeling slimy, as though she needed a hot shower and a harsh scrub.
Dylan looked at her, those green eyes searching hers. They searched her so long and so intently, Ramona started to squirm.
“Dylan?” she asked.
Dylan shook her head. “Sorry. I just…” She trailed off, rubbed her forehead. “Yeah. Yeah, I think you can help. Can we go to the diner?”
“Of course,” Ramona said. “Anything you want to work on particularly?”
Dylan frowned. “I think I just want to talk?”
“Talk,” Ramona said, her stomach fluttering.
Dylan nodded, her gaze soft as her eyes roamed Ramona’s face. “About you. Your life. The town. I think it’d help me get into Eloise’s brain a bit more.”
Ramona opened her mouth, but nothing came out. All she managed was a nod, her feet turning and moving them back toward Clover Moon, though she doubted she’d be able to sit in a booth with acup of coffee in her hands and talk to Dylan Monroe about her life. Life was emotions, dreams.
Love.
First kisses.
Her mind whirled, searching for some way around this, when Dylan stopped walking.
“Actually, will you come somewhere else with me?” she asked, her eyes toward the lake. “If I can find it.”
“Find what?”
Dylan didn’t respond at first, just looked at Ramona as though digging for gold behind her eyes. Ramona couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, not with Dylan Monroe’s green-glass gaze on her like that.
“A place we both know,” Dylan finally said, then started walking toward the water.
Chapter
Thirteen
Turned out, theplace where Dylan and Ramona first met eighteen years ago was a real bitch to find. There was a path from the main beach, but it was little traveled and covered with brambles, and everything looked different in the daylight.
Of course, everything looked different than it did when Dylan was thirteen and starving for anything anyone would give her. Now, as she traipsed through the brush, thorns scraping her legs, Ramona behind her and silent, she couldn’t help but wonder if she was just projecting a monumental event in her life onto Ramona, if maybe Dylan had imagined the whole night altogether.
A dream.
A desperate reach for something.
Someone.
But then the trees parted and the leaf-covered trail spilled out into a sandy cove. The space was a tiny semicircle, trees tucking the little plot of beach against the lake, barely enough room for a few towels and chairs. It was lovely and serene and real.
“This is gorgeous,” Dylan said, toeing off her shoes. The sand was cool under her feet, the late morning sun hiding behind the clouds. “Just how I remember it.”
Behind her, Ramona stopped walking. “You…you remember this place?”
