Dutton and I have hung out many times before, but now that things have changed between us, it won’t be the same.
I’m ready for it.
For whatever is happening between us.
I slip my laptop into my bag and grab the mail from today, then I lock the office door and tell Daisy and Sammie goodbye.
By the time I reach the front of the bakery, Dutton is walking around the front of his truck.
His smile sends butterflies to my stomach.
“Hi,” I say and bite my lip.
I want to kiss him, but I’m not so sure that’s allowed.
And yet, we did agree this morning that if it feels natural, we are going to do it.
Does that apply to when we are in the public eye, too?
“Hey, Books,” he says, his steps never slowing until he slinks one arm around my waist and pulls me against him. His lips find mine in a way that screamsmine.
I kiss him back in a way that screamsyours.
When he pulls back, his smile is still in place.
“It might not be reading, and it might not be taking you back to my place, but I know where we should go.”
“Okay,” I say without asking any more questions.
He drives us to the hiking trail. We walk hand in hand to the top, and then I snuggle under his arm, taking in the view and the calmness that his favorite spot brings.
We don’t talk much, but that’s okay.
Sometimes, more can be said in silence than with actual words, and with every kiss on my temple and every squeeze of his hand, Dutton makes it very clear that he’s here and he isn’t going anywhere.
Chapter
Twenty-Two
DUTTON
The first personI see when I open the door to the bowling alley is Mr. Vans. It’s as if there is a beacon above my head—he looks up, along with all of the other people, employees and bowlers.
I freeze for the smallest moment before following Brooke inside.
Our afternoon was quiet and perfect.
I don’t know how much she wants me to ask about yesterday, but I get the feeling that she doesn’t want to talk about something we can’t control. We did what we could, and for now, that’s all we can do.
Now, it’s time to relax with our friends and be there for her when she needs me.
Our group takes up a good portion of the far lanes.
“More of you, huh,” Mr. Vans grumbles when Brooke and I walk up to the counter to pay and collect our shoes.
“Busy night tonight, Mr. Vans, isn’t it?”
His glare shifts to a calmness I’ve never had the privilege of seeing.
