“You want me to fake date Ramona?” Dylan asked.
“Hey, talentedandsmart,” Rayna said. “Do it.”
And then she ended the call, leaving Dylan alone, gaping in the Rileys’ living room, trying to process what the hell just happened. Before she could figure anything out, her phone buzzed again.
Laurel:Just landed in Manchester. Meet you at the diner
Dylan’s fingers hovered over her screen, but everything she could think to ask was just an amalgam ofwhat the actual fuck, so she held off, hoping the walk to the diner from here would clear her head a bit.
If they could even get out the door without cameras trailing them the entire way.
Date her.
She dropped her phone in her lap, rubbed at her temples. She couldn’t think about this right now. She needed Laurel, and she needed to get Ramona to work without the whole of Hollywood scum mauling her outside her own house.
So that was what she was going to fucking do.
The way backto Lake Street via the backyards was a very different experience with three locals. Granted, Mr. Riley had succeeded in clearing off his lawn, but several photographers were still loitering on the public road just beyond their property line, and Dylan didn’t want to take the chance.
She wanted exactly zero pictures of her and Ramona until she talked to Laurel and cleared her head.
Date her.
And on top of that little gem, Gia’s daily calls to Laurel and the news of Jocelyn and Ruby’s engagement cycled through her thoughts on a loop. The cool morning air helped, but what she really needed was a therapy session and an entire day burrowed under her covers.
At least their journey was quiet, peaceful even, and void of any sprinting through backyards. Dylan took several deep breaths and focused on the leaf-packed trees, the green canopy they created over the earth, the gentleshush-shushof their feet through the grass. No one spoke much, and Dylan was grateful for that, though April and Ramona whispered here and there. She was sure April had a thousand questions about the photos and their Dickie’s outing, but she wasn’t directing those inquiries toward Dylan right now.
Small favors.
“Hey, puppy dog,” Olive crooned as they got to the yard that housed Cujo.
“Oh, hey, be careful,” Dylan said, “that dog is—”
But Olive rubbed the dog’s head, and it leaned into her hands, tongue panting and tail wagging happily.
Dylan sighed. Fucking figured.
“Nugget’s a good dog, aren’t you,” Olive said, rubbing its ears and pressing her face close.
“Nugget?” Dylan said, lifting her damaged hem. “More like Demon.”
“This is the dog that tore your shirt?” Ramona said, also petting the beast, who, if physically capable, would be purring right now from all the love and attention.
“Nugget wouldnever,” April said, joining in this little adoration party and patting the dog’s butt.
“I hate you all,” Dylan said, and kept walking, the others snickering and following her.
“You don’t like dogs?” Ramona said, catching up with her.
“No, I like dogs just fine,” Dylan said. She felt silly and stressed and wanted a cup of coffee the size of her head right now.
“Do you have any pets?” Ramona asked.
Dylan laughed, a bitter sound. “I’m not exactly reliable with caretaking. I kill every plant I’ve ever had. I really wanted a long-haired Chihuahua when I was a kid, but my parents could barely keep me alive, so…”
She trailed off, addingembarrassedto her list of emotions for sharing too much.
Next to her, Ramona was quiet for a bit, April and Olive whispering behind them. The morning sun was golden and sparkling through the trees, the air rain-washed from a summer storm the night before. The day was lovely and worked to calm Dylan down a little.
