“Thanks, I was the pitcher of my high school softball team.” She could feel her face flush. Dahlia wasn’t one to talk about herself. But something about Noah made it all too easy. When you’ve been in a relationship where you have to stay small to survive, you get used to being invisible.
“You’ve got dimples.” He slowly walked closer with a wide, toothy grin.
Dahlia could feel his energy even though he was still a few feet away. Butterflies danced in her belly. If she didn’t know better, shewould think he was flirting. “Yup. Just like my mom,” she said softly, feeling a tug at her heart.
“So what else do you have to do out here? Want some help?” he asked, setting the bag on the bench.
“Don’t you have things to do?” Dahlia asked, eyeing his eagerness that felt youthful. Why was he being so nice?
“Nah. I have to finish a piece I’m bringing to Shelter Island tomorrow and fix your fridge. But I can help here.”
“And look at the oven?” Dahlia playfully smiled.
He grinned back. “Of course. Happy to.”
Dahlia sensed he wanted company too. “Okay then. You can help dig. Can you grab the pointed shovel in the shed?”
“Your wish is my command,” he said, bowing to her. He was funny too—bonus points.
Dahlia explained how much to dig up and how to split the roots. “I couldn’t get these up the other day. I kept hitting something.” She pointed to the half-wilted violets.
“Got it.” He met her hazel eyes.
He had to stop looking at her like that; otherwise, she might have to have a hot girl summer after all. “I’ll work on the Montauk daisies over here.” She walked to the other raised bed, hearing the pebbles crunch under her sneakers.
“So, want to come by later for a burger? I mean, it is the Fourth,” he said, flinging dirt.
She could feel her pulse quicken as she watched him step onto the shovel in his old Timberlands and take command of the earth. Biting her lip, she considered her options. If she went, what would it mean? If she didn’t, she could keep going with the list.
“Maybe,” she blurted, covering her eyes from the sun.
He wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead. “Okay, I can live with maybe.” Noah stabbed the ground again, and this time, she heard a sharp, hollow sound.
“That’s it. That’s what I hit yesterday.” She dropped her shovel and headed over to him. “What is it?”
Just as she got there, he pulled it up. It was an old, rusted coffee can.
Could this be where Lil’s key was hidden? “Is there anything inside?”
“Nah, it’s empty. Whatever was in there is gone.” He shrugged his broad shoulders, flipping the can around. “Wait, there’s something written on the bottom.”
“May I look?” Before he could answer, she pulled it from his grip. Dahlia wiped the remaining soil from the base. It read “18” in worn black paint. “That’s strange. Why would Lil bury an empty coffee can with a random number painted on the bottom?”
Did the number eighteen mean anything to Lil? Dahlia held the rusty, dirty vessel in her hands, memories unfolding like a flower in bloom with no clear answers or resolution in sight. What was Lil trying to tell her?
CHAPTER SEVEN
“This should do it,” Noah said, his head in the oven, as he aligned the vent cover on the oven fan. “Can you hand me the screwdriver?”
There was silence. Dahlia was too busy staring at his dirty jeans and how they framed his fit and firm butt perfectly.
“Dimples, you there?” He felt the floor, where he thought he left it.
“Ah, yeah, sorry,” Dahlia reached for it on the other side and slipped it into his grip. That was a close call. Harry’s panting by the door pretty much summed up how she was feeling inside. However, it wasn’t just an attraction. It was a feeling of being helped and looked after. And perhaps she’d needed that more than she realized, especially lately.
“You shouldn’t have any more problems with it.”
“I don’t know how to thank you, Noah.” Not only was she grateful, but she was impressed too. Was there anything he couldn’t fix? Dahlia couldn’t wait to find out. Sure, he was handy, but he also helped her clean. That took his sex appeal to a whole other level. Maybe Lil knew what she was doing after all.
