“We stayed three extra hours at work today, you raced to the car, then were slower than an injured puppy walking up to the apartment.” He raised an eyebrow. “At work you bounced your leg for what felt like hours and clicked each of your pens for just as long.”
Okay, so yeah, she stayed at work over three hours late, forcing them to go home in the dark, which backfired on her. “I’m not sure; I can’t shake the feeling.”
Trying to be nonchalant, tears began welling in her eyes. Blinking furiously, she looked away from Dylan. Crying twice in the span of 24 hours was unusual for her, but this was astressful24 hours.
“Do you,” Dylan started to move closer to her, “feel safe?” Resting his heavy hand on her knee, he searched her face. Tears dropped as Flora let out a sharp laugh. Flipping her hair over her shoulder, laying out on the couch she rested her head on his lap.
“In my home of five years, behind a securely locked door and double-checked windows with a high-tech alarm system...no, I don’t feel safe.”
“Let’s go then,” Dylan said, dragging her body to the edge of the couch and carrying her to her bedroom. Setting her down on her bed, he backed away towards her closet and pulled a duffle bag out. Confusion filled Flora's expression, the sudden simple answer to her problem being so easily spoken threw her into being even more unbalanced.
“Go where? I have nowhere else to go,” Flora said, waving her hands around helplessly. He didn’t get it; she couldn’t go to Willow or Luxe or even her parents. The guilt that plagued her wouldn’t let her put the people she loved in danger.
“To my old house, no one will be able to find it unless I give them strict directions. Jackson doesn’t even know the way.” When he shrugged, she could see his pec flex under his tight white T-shirt as he tossed her bag toward her. “Now pack a bag.”
“We don’t have to risk your safe place, Dylan. I’ll get over it.” Flipping over, she tried to drag her comforter up over her, but it was yanked from her grasp as her ankle was pulled to the edge of the bed.
“You can pack your bag, or I can.”
Huffing a breath, she dragged herself out of bed before packing an overnight bag. He left, she guessed, to pack his own bag. He refused closet space, just like he refused to sleep in the apartment before she convinced him to change his mind. Maybe she could get him to use up some closet space whenever they got back.
Sitting on the bench in her entranceway, she perused her collection of shoes. Choosing a pair of sneakers over a pair of heels for now, since she wasn’t going anywhere the next day, she put on her socks. A familiar, gentle hand, one she was growing to love, took the shoe from her hand.
“Let me.” He kneeled, taking his sweet time wrapping his fingers around her ankle. She seemed to be on an obeying streak with Dylan. Sitting back, she watched him push her foot into her shoe like she was a princess.
“Okay, you ready?”
With a nod of her head, he took her hand and out the door they went.
After numerous twists and turns down bumpy dirt roads, they finally got to their destination: the little cabin in the middle of nowhere that Dylan called home. Pulling up to the gravel driveway, Dylan parked the car. Instead of opening his door, he sat back in his seat, looking over to Flora. Looking up at him, she released a deep breath, trying to relax. Reaching out for his hand, she interlaced their fingers, running her thumb over the back of his hand.
“How are you feeling?” he whispered.
“I don’t know,” Flora whispered back, looking out at the house. Was this safer? Was it actually safer, or was she messing with herself mentally?
Getting out of the car, Dylan pulled her door open. Walking hand-in-hand up the steps of the house, they stepped inside. Flora took her shoes off as he turned on the lights. Last time she was there, she’d only seen the outside, and her panther was in complete control for the majority of the time. The cozy atmosphere inside was a surprise to Flora. He had a cream-colored couch, with a basket overflowing with blankets. A red brick fireplace with a TV hanging on the wall above it. Candles all around on the end tables. It looked like a dream, a Pinterest kind of dream.
“Did you get an interior designer?” she asked, dragging her pink nails across the back of the couch. Dylan let out a laugh, turning back to face her. The trail of his eyes over her body left a path of warmth on her skin. She was in his home, under his roof, and about to sleep in his private home. Feeling shy at the thought, she looked toward the fireplace, anywhere, to not look at Dylan.
“No, I did this. No one has ever been here besides me.” He walked towards the fireplace, switching a flip and turning it on.
“Not real?” Flora exclaimed, surprised but also disappointed that she wouldn’t see him chop wood anytime soon.
“Nah, that’s Jackson’s thing.” He smiled, trailing into another room. She followed, her footsteps creaking with the floorboards. The kitchen followed the same cozy aesthetic.
“Hungry?”
“What do you have?” Flora asked, wondering if he actually had food here, thinking he mostly lived at the Packhouse.
“Well, I got those pastries you like in the car.”
“Toaster pastries?” Flora asked with a smile growing on her face.
This man thought of everything, of course she’d love those calorie-filled addicting monsters. It was a blessing she was a Shifter who had an extremely fast metabolism. Cause those would go straight to her already oversized hips and thighs otherwise. She already got shit for her curvy figure; imagine if she had to pay the price of eating an entire box of those bad boys in one sitting.
“Yeah, that’s all I have though. Don’t mind the dust or the lack of food. It's been a while since I’ve been here,” he said, slipping out to his car to get her treat.
How long had he had those? Where did he even get them? It didn’t matter to her because the thought that he got them for her filled her with that same heat that followed all of their interactions.
