Gifting Dylan: A Blooming Desire Holiday Novella Page 3

  We laughed and found more common ground as we chatted more about our dogs. I noticed the way Nash’s eyes lit up when he talked about Sheba, which was insanely endearing. Having something to discuss made him forget he was doing the dreaded activity of putting up holiday decorations.

  Slowly but surely, the decorations came together. I stepped back from the door, dusted my hands off and examined our handiwork.

  “I think we’re done,” I announced.

  “Already?” Nash asked. He was so mired in our conversation he hadn’t noticed all the work he’d done.

  I nodded at the door. “See for yourself.”

  We’d put the big wreath up. It was made of real pine needles, so it had that fresh scent, and was accented with red ribbons and a bell right in the center. Silver lights trailed along the door and top of the porch. They didn’t look like much now, but come nightfall, they’d be magical. And, of course, I topped it all off with a little Santa figure that hung around the doorknob.

  I searched Nash’s face eagerly, waiting to see his reaction. “Well?”

  A smile tugged at his lips, even though I could tell he was trying to keep it from happening. I nudged him playfully with my elbow.

  “C’mon, Nash, smile.” I wigged my eyebrows. “I know you want to.”

  “You’re ridiculous,” he mumbled, but the smile broke free. It lit up his face brighter than a whole set of lights.

  We stared at each other for a moment before Nash tore his glance away. Apparently, he suddenly found the ground very interesting. He cleared his throat.

  “Well, I guess that’s it,” he mumbled.

  “What about the inside of your house? Don’t you wanna do that, too?”

  He looked uneasily at me. “Do you? You already went through all this effort, with the snow and decorations… I don’t want to keep wasting your time.”

  I let out a disbelieving laugh. “Wasting my time? Nash, if I wasn’t hanging out with you, I’d be at home sitting on my ass playing video games or something. I’m having a lot of fun. Aren’t you?”

  He chewed his lip, like he was afraid to answer. Something fluttered in my chest when he eventually nodded.

  “I am,” he said softly. “I just don’t get why you want to hang out with someone like me.”

  There he went again with the self-deprecation. I wondered what kind of baggage was weighing him down. I put my hand on his arm and gave him a friendly pat.

  “Hey. I like hanging with you,” I said. “It’s as simple as that.”

  His eyes were guarded, and for some reason he looked… guilty? Why?

  “Okay. How about this,” I began. “I have an idea, but it involves—gasp—going somewhere with me tomorrow.”

  “Where?”

  “Can’t it be a surprise? I promise it’s nowhere weird. Just a normal holiday thing that everyone does.” I held out my small finger. “I pinky-promise.”

  “God, you really are five years old,” Nash said. He linked his finger with mine and we shook on it. “Fine. But you’re driving. Oh my god, five-year-olds can’t drive. What are we going to do?”

  I rolled my eyes and grinned. “You and your smart mouth better be dressed for the cold tomorrow. By the way, it’s dog-friendly, so bring Sheba along too.”

  Nash nodded. He seemed relieved to be able to bring his best friend to this mysterious undisclosed location.

  “Just leave all those boxes where they are, we’re gonna need ‘em tomorrow,” I told him. “Barley! Here, girl.”

  I was halfway to leaving when Nash’s eyes widened and he called, “Uh, Dylan?”

  I paused mid-step. “What?”

  He pointed to my pants. Specifically, the big hole in my crotch, which had only gotten bigger from exertion. I blushed and shuffled back inside, where my old pair of pants was waiting for me. Nash pointedly avoided looking at me while I changed, although—unless it was just my imagination—I thought I noticed him sneaking a peek once or twice.

  I handed him the flannel when I was finished changing. “Uh, sorry for ripping them, by the way.”

  “It’s fine. They have more character this way,” he said dryly.

  I snickered. “That’s a fun way of looking at it. Do you want me to patch them up?”

  Nash mulled my offer over. “No. I think I’d like to keep them this way, as a reminder of today.”

  “Wow,” I said, smiling. “That’s surprisingly sentimental of you.” I lightly rapped my knuckles on his chest. “See, Mr. Grinch? You do have a heart in there, after all.”

  Nash scowled, but I saw the humor glinting in his eyes. He didn’t push my hand away. His chest was warm—his whole body radiated heat like a furnace I wanted to press my body against. I stayed close for a few seconds too long before I backed off.

  “I should get goin’. See you tomorrow?”

  Nash’s voice was rough as he cleared his throat. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

  I left Nash’s place in high spirits. He had no idea how much fun he was going to have tomorrow—whether he liked it or not.

  5

  Nash

  I paced around the front hall. Dylan had texted me saying he was going to arrive at 8 AM sharp. I don’t know what he had planned that involved going somewhere at such an ungodly hour, but I trusted him. For some reason.

  I don’t know what it was about him. Maybe it was because he was basically a happy, goofy golden retriever in a man’s body.

  A man’s hot body.

  Okay, now I just sound like a freak.

  I shook my head, trying to get Dylan off my mind. Sheba sat by the door and watched me with a curious tilt of her head. If she could speak, she’d probably be asking, “What’re you worked up about, Nash?”

  Then I’d reply, “Well, Sheba, I have this weird fuzzy feeling in my chest over this guy I met yesterday. Except I’ve known him for months, maybe years, I’ve just never really talked to him until now, and it turns out he’s a sweet guy.”

  And then I don’t know what Sheba would say because this idea was fucking ridiculous.

  I ran my hand through my hair for the millionth time and re-checked myself in the mirror. I blew out a breath, making a strand of blond hair puff out. I looked decent enough. I didn’t know what Dylan had planned, but at least I wasn’t wearing goddamn pajama pants this time.

  A melodic knock at the door startled me. I threw it open. The bell from the wreath jingled joyfully, and there was Dylan standing there with a big grin to match. He was wearing literally the ugliest sweater I’d ever seen in my life—gaudy red and green with a reindeer’s red nose sticking out in the form of a pom-pom between two googly eyes.

  I must have been making a disgusted face because Dylan laughed. “What, you don’t like my ugly Christmas sweater?”

  “Why in god’s name are you wearing that?” I demanded.

  “It’s funny. Ugly Christmas sweaters are traditional, you know? So it’s like, ironic.”

  “I don’t get it. You’re handsome. Why ruin it with that… thing?”

  Dylan cocked his head, his smile widening. “You think I’m handsome?”

  “I—” I exhaled in exasperation. I hadn’t meant to let that slip. “Can we just go do whatever it is you want to do?”

  “Thought you’d never ask. It was fun teasing you while it lasted, though.” He winked. “C’mon.”

  He left his pickup truck idling in the driveway. Thankfully, the Rosecreek community caretakers had cleared most of the snow off the roads and driveways. I hopped into the shotgun seat. As soon as I sat down, someone licked my ear and I yelped.

  Dylan let out a hearty laugh. “Someone’s happy to see you,” he sing-songed.

  His golden retriever, Barley, sat behind me with a goofy smile on her face. God, she and Dylan really did look exactly the same.

  I summoned Sheba into the back seat. She and Barley licked each other’s faces in a friendly greeting.

  “Aw, they’re making out,” Dylan said. “Our dogs are a couple of l
esbians.”

  I snorted a laugh. “You know that’s not what that means, right?”

  Dylan grinned, a smarmy look on his face. “It’s like a perfect holiday romance. They meet, they fall in love… They should make a movie about them. Ooh, they can make their mouths move with CGI and give them celebrity voice-overs! I think Barley should be voiced by Beyoncé.”

  The things coming out of his mouth were incredibly stupid, but I found myself laughing anyway. Being around Dylan was like being around a ray of sunshine. Sometimes it got in your eyes and annoyed you, but it was also warm and cozy.

  We hit the road, going to Dylan’s mystery adventure location. I didn’t bother asking since he wouldn’t tell me anyway, continuing to insist that it was a secret.

  At one point he pulled up to a coffee shop drive thru. He rolled down the window for the dogs and they both excitedly stuck their heads out. They looked like a two-headed Cerberus.

  “You want anything?” Dylan asked.

  “I, uh…”

  “No need to be polite, by the way. You already saw me in my underwear and with a hole in my pants, so I think we’re beyond that level of intimacy now.”

  I blushed as I remembered both of those incidents. “Just a black coffee is fine.”

  He pouted. “No candy cane mocha? Gingerbread latte? Nothing fancy?”

  The sad puppy expression made me reconsider. What kind of hold did Dylan have over me?

  I sighed in resignation. “If I get a candy cane mocha, will it make you stop asking?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then, yes. One small… candy cane mocha for me.”

  “Great.” He grinned and turned to face the speaker. “Two large candy cane mochas, please.”

  “I said small,” I argued.

  “It’s the holidays, my friend. It’s a time for decadence and luxury,” Dylan said. He put on a fake gruff voice. “We don’t order smalls. We are men. We chug sweet syrup until we go into a sugar coma.”

  I rubbed my temple. “Well, if I go into a sugar coma, you’re going to have to be the one carrying my dead weight around.”

  “No problem. I’ll just toss you over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes.”

  I got a mental image of me draped over Dylan’s shoulder like a damsel-in-distress and flushed. Why the hell was I thinking about that? And why did I like it?

  We got our drinks and sipped them all the way to our final destination. Just as I’d thought, the candy cane mocha was disgustingly sweet. Dylan chugged his like it was water while I nursed on mine in tiny, balking sips.

  “It’s good, right?” Dylan asked. “Bet you’re glad I made you get one.”

  “It’s…something,” I half-agreed. “I feel like I’m drinking pure sugar.”

  “Hell yeah. It’s the best.”

  I noticed a thick smudge of whipped cream right above his lip. He hadn’t seemed to notice.

  “Hang on. Don’t move,” I said. I reached over and ran my thumb across his upper lip. Dylan froze. “There. You had whipped cream on your face.”

  “Ah,” he said. “Thanks.”

  Was it just my imagination, or was he blushing?

  He pulled up to a gravel parking lot. Rows and rows of unending pine trees spread out before us. Horror slowly dawned on me when I realized where we were.

  “Oh, hell no,” I stated.

  “Oh, hell yes.”

  I faced Dylan. “You are not putting one of those things in my house.”

  “Of course we are! What’s Christmas without a tree?”

  I scowled and narrowed my eyes. “No, Dylan.”

  Dylan gave me that sad puppy look and I felt like I was scolding one, too. Except instead of a puppy there was a grown man in front of me, pouting because I didn’t want a shedding, pine-scented awful thing in my living room.

  “Well, we drove all the way here. Might as well check it out!” he said happily, as if he didn’t hear a word I just said.

  He killed the engine and hopped out, grabbing both dogs’ leashes. I gawked. He was serious. When I was the only one left in the truck, I grumbled and got out.

  “I hate you,” I grumbled.

  Dylan beamed. “You don’t mean that.”

  No, I didn’t.

  Dylan paid at the little kiosk by the entrance. When I caught up with him, I remembered I hadn’t paid for the mocha either. But when he saw me reaching for my wallet, he put his hand on mine and shook his head.

  “Nope. Everything’s on me,” he said.

  “No way,” I argued. “At least let me split it.”

  “Nope.” He playfully smacked my hand. “Put that thing away.”

  I huffed. “Fine. But I’m not happy about it.”

  “Are you happy about anything?” he teased.

  I’m happy about you, I thought suddenly. But I didn’t say it out loud. The thought was mortifying enough as it was.

  “Sometimes things bring me joy,” I replied dryly instead.

  Dylan chuckled and led me into the lot. Christmas trees of all shapes and sizes surrounded us. They had a light dusting of snow that made them look picturesque. Even if I didn’t care for the holidays, I still appreciated the beauty of the trees—just not inside my house.

  “So, which one do you like?” Dylan asked.

  “I don’t know. I, um… I’ve never done this before,” I admitted.

  His brows raised. “What? Really?”

  “No.”

  He looked genuinely puzzled. “You didn’t pick out a tree with your family as a kid?”

  I sipped my drink distractedly. “No. My family wasn’t exactly…representative of the holiday spirit.”

  Dylan watched me with a sympathetic gaze. For some reason, I didn’t feel the same wall around my feelings that I did yesterday. I slowly lowered my guard.

  “My parents split up when I was young, and my dad remarried around the time you find out Santa isn’t real.”

  “He’s not?” Dylan asked.

  I rolled my eyes and smirked. “I’m so sorry you had to find out this way.”

  Dylan smiled. “Sorry. Go on,” he encouraged.

  “Well, as you can imagine, the whole family split kind of put a damper on any holiday cheer. Especially since it didn’t feel like a family anymore. I wasn’t close with my stepmom or stepbrother, and I was mad at my dad in general for the divorce. It was childish in hindsight, but it’s how I felt at the time.”

  Dylan nodded, his eyes warm with sympathy. “It’s hard for a kid to deal with.”

  “My dad and stepmom unanimously agreed me and my stepbrother Lucas were too old at that point to bother dealing with Santa or Christmas or anything like that. All we got were gift cards and money, basically. Which wasn’t exactly bad, but it didn’t feel…” I shrugged. “It never felt the way they made Christmas look on TV and in movies.”

  “I understand,” Dylan said softly. “It makes sense why you feel that way now as an adult, then.”

  I shrugged and took another sip of my mocha. “Anyway. I didn’t mean to dig up old crappy memories when we’re supposed to be having fun.”

  Dylan put his hand on my shoulder. “Not at all. I’m glad you opened up to me.” He smiled. “I feel like I know you better now.”

  I met his gaze. Light snowflakes landed in his windswept hair, and his rosy cheeks were as plump as a cherub’s. He looked like a male model for a Christmas fashion ad or something.

  When Dylan pulled away first, I felt a strange pang of disappointment.

  “So, let me teach you how to pick a tree,” he began. “You gotta check out the needles, make sure they’re green and fresh. The less yellow ones the better. And a symmetrical tree is always nice, unless you’re one of those people who purposely enjoys an ugly tree.”

  “I am not one of those people,” I said.

  Dylan laughed. “I figured. I know you better than that by now.”

  I smiled back.

  As we searched for the perfect tree, I noticed us walking cl
oser together. Our elbows even brushed together a couple times. But Dylan didn’t comment.

  I kept stealing glances at him from the corner of my eye. The way his face lit up when he talked about things that excited him, the gentle patience in his eyes as he listened to me speak… All of it endeared me to him more and more. I didn’t think he would care about my shitty childhood story, but he did—he listened like no one else ever had.

  Did Dylan really care about me? Or was I getting my hopes up for nothing?

  6

  Dylan

  “This one,” I announced, stopping in front of the perfect tree.

  Nash barked out a disbelieving laugh. “Yeah, no. Not that one.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s about fifty feet tall, for one thing. It won’t fit. Anywhere.”

  “I’ll make it fit,” I teased, shooting him a sly look.

  I knew my innuendo landed when a blush appeared on his cheeks—though that might’ve just been from the cold. It was hard to tell.

  “Fine. What about that one?” I asked, pointing to a smaller but equally nice tree.

  “Better,” Nash admitted. “I wouldn’t mind that one.”

  I beamed. “Great! Now, if we hook up both of us and the dogs to the tree, we can haul it back to the truck in no time.”

  Nash shot me a horrified expression and I burst out laughing.

  “It was a joke,” I said. “I say funny words to make you laugh.”

  He cocked a brow. “I can’t tell with you sometimes.”

  I summoned an attendant to help carry the tree back to my truck. Nash and I headed back to the entrance to wait. We finished off our candy cane mochas—me with a gleeful expression, and Nash with a disgusted one.

  As he tossed the cup out, Nash muttered, “It’s official. That was the worst thing I’ve ever tasted.”

  “Don’t lie. You totally loved it.”

  “It sucked ass.”

  I smirked. “You’re saying it tasted like ass? In a good way or a bad way?”

  Nash stared at me. “I didn’t—that’s not what I—” He groaned in exasperation. “Why does everything have to be so dirty with you?”