I nod. “Every day. But especially around the holidays. She’s the one who taught me how to bake. When mom would work long hours at the hospital, I’d spend whole weekends in Grandma’s kitchen, flour everywhere, making those Polish cookies I told you about.”
“She sounds amazing.”
“She was.” I trace the rim of my mug. “She always made me feel like I mattered. Like I was the most important person in her world. After she died when I was eleven, I felt so alone. I mean, I had my mom, sure, but she was always working. Then Mom met that surgeon during my senior year, and now she’s living in Europe with him...” I swallow hard, surprised by the emotion welling up. “It’s like ... once she met him, I stopped mattering. Mom barely calls anymore. It’s like she got her new life, and I just don’t fit in it.”
I hadn’t meant to say all that. Certainly not to Dylan, of all people. But something about the quiet way he’s listening, theabsence of his usual jokes or deflections, makes it easy to keep talking.
“Sorry,” I say, trying to lighten the mood. “Holiday blues, I guess.”
Dylan doesn’t smile. Instead, he reaches across the table and takes my hand, his thumb brushing over my knuckles in a gesture so gentle it makes my throat tight.
“You’re never alone, Chey,” he says, his eyes holding mine with unexpected intensity. “You always have us. You always have me.”
“I know,” I manage to say, though my voice sounds strange to my own ears. “Your family has always been there for me.”
“Not just my family,” Dylan says quietly. “Me too.”
The sincerity in his voice makes my chest constrict. His hand is warm around mine, strong and steady, and I’m suddenly, acutely aware of how close we’re sitting, how intimate this corner booth feels despite the bustling café around us.
My pulse quickens, heat rising to my cheeks as I try to process what’s happening.
“We should probably get going,” I say eventually, my voice barely above a whisper.
He nods but doesn’t immediately move to leave. “Yeah, probably should.”
When he finally releases my hand, I miss his touch.
I should probably be relieved that this strange day is coming to an end, but instead, I feel a twinge of disappointment as I gather my purse and coat.
As we stand to leave, Dylan reaches out to brush something from my cheek. His fingers are gentle, barely grazing my skin, but the contact sends a jolt through me.
“Sorry,” he murmurs. “Whipped cream.”
“Thanks,” I manage, suddenly very aware of how close we’re standing.
For a moment, neither of us moves. Then Dylan steps back, clearing his throat. “C’mon, let’s go for a walk.”
I nod, not trusting my voice. As I follow him toward the door, I can’t help but wonder what just happened here—and more importantly, why my heart is racing like I’m running a marathon.
Chapter Thirteen
Dylan
The early evening air nips at my face as we step out of the café, but I barely notice it. Something about Cheyenne’s presence beside me feels warm, like I’ve got my own personal sun walking with me down this sidewalk. It’s weird how comfortable this is—just the two of us, no Genna between us, no pranks to plan. Just walking, existing in the same space, and somehow it doesn’t feel awkward at all.
“Which way?” I ask, glancing down at her. The holiday lights strung across the street cast a soft glow on her face, highlighting the curves of her cheekbones and the slight upturn of her lips.
“I don’t care.” She shrugs, pulling her coat closer around her. “I just know I’m not ready to go home yet.”
Those words shouldn’t make my heart skip like they do. But here we are.
“Downtown?” I suggest, nodding toward the main shopping district where all the storefronts are lit up for Christmas. “They’ve got the big tree up.”
“Perfect.” She falls into step beside me, close enough that our arms brush occasionally. Each time sends a little jolt through me that I try to ignore.
We walk in comfortable silence for a block, the sounds of the city a backdrop to my thoughts. Cars passing, distant laughter, Christmas music spilling from open doors as we pass restaurants and bars. It’s Saturday night, and the streets are alive with people celebrating the weekend.
“Downtown at Christmas was always my favorite,” Cheyenne says as we fall into step together. “My grandma used to bring me to see the lights when I was little.”
