Only in My Dreams (16 page)

“Yeah, I guess you did. But you work too much—on the job and here at your house.”

Dylan arched a brow at him. “Yet you envy my kitchen, so clearly it's work well spent.”

Cameron flashed a smile. “Smartass.”

Dylan moved the chili-filled bowls to the island where he'd set out the condiments. “Sour cream?”

“Hit me—all of it. You have any olives?”

“On your chili?” Dylan shrugged. “I guess that could work. But no, I don't have any. See, I clearly don't have anyone shopping for me.” He slapped the condiments on both bowls and slid one to his brother. He followed it with a large spoon.

“Looks good, bro,” Cameron said. “You going to answer my question about getting back out there? And I'm not talking about picking a girl up here and there. You've mastered that. It's time you find something a little more permanent.”

“You're really going to give me advice? The guy who picks up a new babe every time he travels, which is at least once a month.”

Cameron stirred his chili, mixing in the sour cream. “I'm younger than you. I have time to sow my oats.”

“Oh, I'm approaching middle age or something? I need to hurry up and get remarried before my testicles dry out?” Dylan blew on his steaming chili. “I may never get remarried, and that's fine.”

“The hell it is. You deserve a family and some happiness.” Cameron held up his spoon. “Don't argue with me. You think you're alone, but you're not. It's time you stopped acting like a loner.”

Dylan shook his head. “You sound like my mother.”

“Yeah, well, maybe she's right.”

“God, please don't ever say that.”

Cameron grinned. They tackled their chili for a minute before Cameron spoke again. “I just want you to be happy.”

“I am,” Dylan said. “I'm really pumped about this job.”
And about how much I'll see Sara doing it
. Damn, if he wasn't careful, he was going to develop an obsession for his boss. Not cool.

“There's more to life than work.”

Yes, there was. But the more Cameron talked about it, the more Dylan realized what a failure he was at relationships. The only people he saw on a regular basis and whose company he enjoyed were his employees and Cameron—and his other brothers when they were home. And his sister when she wasn't at school. But he even sucked at those relationships, because he rarely texted or e-mailed. He'd learned to keep his focus pretty narrow. There was far less disappointment that way.

Frustrated with the conversation, Dylan let his gaze drift to the TV. “Highlights.” He grabbed the remote and jacked up the volume as Cameron turned his head. “Come on, we can move to the table.”

Dylan picked up his bowl and beer and went to the table that sat between the kitchen and the living room.

Cameron joined him, shaking his head. “You are the master of deflection.”

“And you're a nosy son of a bitch.” Dylan finished his beer. “Grab me another IPA.”

Cameron bowed. “Yes, sir.” When he came back, he started talking about the game, evidently taking the hint that therapy time was over.

But his words stayed with Dylan, and at the back of his mind, he wondered if he really ought to look for something more.

Chapter Nine

O
N
W
EDNESDAY MORNING
, Sara dressed in a pair of old jeans and a T-shirt. After a quarter hour of footwear indecision, she'd finally opted for a pair of hiking boots. It was the one thing in her closet that most closely resembled the work boots Dylan had been wearing yesterday.

On her way to the monastery, she checked in with Craig, who'd begun to settle in a little better. It was the first conversation in which he hadn't asked her to do something. As was becoming usual, they barely talked about anything personal, just exchanging cursory “How are yous?” and “Fines.”

She pulled into the monastery at eight thirty. The parking lot contained a half-dozen or so cars but not Dylan's truck. She wasn't on time, but was it possible he was late too? No, she was certain he'd be punctual. And sounds of activity carried on the breeze from the direction of the cottage, which sat a few hundred yards away down a dirt track.

Anxious to get over there, she dropped her purse and lunch into the office trailer and locked the door behind her before starting toward the cottage. The sounds of demolition grew louder with each step.

Dylan's work truck was parked at the end of the dirt track. Toolboxes were open and there was a flurry of activity visible through the open front door of the house.

Dylan came outside. “Sara, you're here.”

“You doubted I'd come?”

“Nope, just glad to see you.” Was he? Her stomach did a silly little flip. “Come with me, I have some stuff for you.” He passed by her on the way to his truck.

Sara turned to follow him. “What sort of stuff?”

“Work stuff.” He opened the passenger side door and withdrew something then turned around. “Work hat, gloves, and goggles.”

She couldn't help but giggle. “They're pink. Even the goggles.”

He held them out. “Of course.”

She took the hard hat, which held the gloves and goggles in the bowl. “You just happened to have these lying around? I can't imagine you in a pink hat. Or gloves. Or goggles.”

He gave her a mock horrified look. “I prefer something in mauve.”

She laughed outright. “Do you even know what mauve is?” She'd overseen dozens of weddings and wished she had a dollar for every groom who hadn't the faintest idea what the wedding colors were. They were just “blue” or “purple” instead of cerulean or lavender.

He exhaled as he closed the door of his truck. “You caught me. I don't know mauve from puce. Is puce actually a color? If it is, it must be ugly because, well, just,
puce
. What kind of word is that?” His pale gray-green eyes twinkled in the morning light.

“I agree it's a gross-sounding word. And you're right, it's an ugly color. It's reddish brownish purple. It's actually the French word for
flea
and got its name from the bloodstains left by flea droppings on linen.”

His jaw dropped. “That's disgusting.”

“Completely.”

He chuckled. “Why do you even know that?”

With a shrug, she extracted the gloves and goggles from the hat, then set the pink plastic bowl on her head. “Hopelessly addicted to Wikipedia and other sources of useless information.”

Nodding, he led her toward the house. “Good to know. Next time I need to learn about bug dung, I'll know who to ask. Come on, I'll introduce you to the crew.”

As he took her inside and introduced her to each worker, she was glad she'd come to help out. His guys were all so nice and so clearly happy to be here working. Warmth spread through her and she felt good about hiring them, even if it meant she was working closely with the guy she was trying to forget.

Forget? Fat chance of that, though she
was
trying.

His right-hand guy, Manny, grinned at her, his dark eyes twinkling. “I like how your hat and stuff matches your shirt.”

Beneath her zippered heather gray hoodie, she was wearing a pink and white horizontal-striped shirt. “Actually, your boss got them for me.”

Manny flicked a surprised look at Dylan. “Did he?”

Dylan gave him a look that might've held a hint of exasperation. Sara couldn't tell for sure. She needled him a little to see his reaction. “I wish he'd given me some pink boots, too. I doubt they make those in a sturdy enough variety, though.”

Dylan's gaze dipped to her feet. “Actually, they do. You can buy them online. I'll send you the link.”

She surveyed the men working. Already, things looked different. The kitchen, which had been closed off from the dining and living area, was starting to open up as the crew was hard at work demolishing the separating wall. She slipped on the goggles and tugged on her gloves, which fit perfectly. She snuck a look at Dylan's profile, surprised—and delighted—by his thoughtfulness. “Where do we start?”

“They've got things pretty well handled up here. I was actually going to start in the basement. Have you been down there?”

“Briefly.” It contained a laundry facility and some storage space, which they'd use for, well, laundry and storage. “It's hard to tell how much space there'll be for storage since it's broken up into those weird rooms.” Besides the laundry room, there were three distinct spaces that looked as if they'd been built out at various times without much thought. One of them was in an odd
L
shape.

“I already took some tools down there,” Manny said.

“Thanks.” Dylan held a hand out toward the kitchen, where the door to the basement was located. “After you, my lady in pink.”

She flashed him a smile and walked into the kitchen. She stopped at the door. “You first. Last time I went down there, I walked into a spider web.” She and Tori had spent a lot of time discussing the renovation and they'd had more than one meeting in the building.

“Manny's already been down there this morning.”

“No thanks. Manny's not very tall. You first.”

He laughed. “Coward.”

This was going well. They
could
be friends. He wasn't being overtly flirtatious, and she was doing a good job not thinking about the way he kissed or the way the light gray T-shirt stretched taut over his shoulder blades.

She
had
been doing a good job.

He opened the door and preceded her down the stairs. To the left was the laundry room. Light spilled in from the high windows set into the foundation. To the right was the
L
-shaped room that curved back behind the stairs. It too was illuminated by windows. In front of them were two more rooms, both with a variety of storage features—a word that didn't quite do justice to the closets and ramshackle shelves that looked as though they might fall down.

He led her into the smaller of the two rooms. There weren't really walls—at least no sheetrock or plaster—just bare studs and boards, like they'd carved out this space from the larger room and hadn't finished it. Wood had been mounted between the studs to create a hodge-podge of shelves. Decades of paint, and jars, and boxes of knick-knacks sat here and there.

Dylan moved forward and plucked up two paint cans. “Let's start in here by clearing off these shelves. Just pile everything near the stairs and the guys will haul it up later.”

She jumped in and they made short work of emptying the room. “Do we get to demolish something now? I didn't sign up to clean.”

He chuckled. “Sure.” He went to the landing area and came back with a sledgehammer. “Let's take out these shelves, then we'll do the walls. Have you ever swung one of these before?”

She shook her head as she picked up the sledgehammer. “Wow, this is a lot heavier than it looks.”

“Awkward, too, especially if you raise it over your head.”

“I'm not sure I can do that.”

“No need to for these shelves. Here, let me show you.” He came around behind her and put his hands over hers. The proximity of his chest behind her back sent a current of desire shooting through her.
Not good
. She wanted to ask if his physical assistance was really necessary, but didn't want to draw attention to her reaction. He'd given no indication that he had any lingering attraction. And she'd do well to bury hers for good.

“For the shelves, bring the hammer up to dislodge the wood.” He guided her hands up, but the bottom shelf only buckled; it didn't come loose. “A little harder.” He did most of the work, sending the sledgehammer into the wood. The wood came up then clanked to the floor.

“Nicely done.”

She smiled over her shoulder at him. Mistake. He was far too close. And far too handsome.

She turned back around and eased away from him. “Let's do it again.”

“All right, then.” His tone carried a sheen of admiration. “You try the next one.” The room contained probably two-dozen shelves.

Sara moved up to the next shelf and did as he'd showed her. It took three swings of the hammer, but she finally brought the plank of wood down, dancing back in anticipation of it falling to the floor.

He grinned. “Excellent work. I'll just be next door, if that's okay.”

He was going to leave? Disappointment skipped over her—not because she needed his help, but because she was enjoying his company. But she didn't tell him so. “Yep.”

He disappeared from the room, and she got back to work. By the time she'd finished half of the shelves, she was perspiring. She loved the feel of the hammer hitting the wood. The connection sent a tremor along her arms and up her spine that grounded her in space—something that helped with her regulation. It was fantastic sensory input. Maybe she ought to abandon event planning for construction.

She suffered a guilty pang as she realized she sort of
had
abandoned event planning. No, that wasn't fair. She was doing what she needed to do right now for her family. And for herself.

She set the hammer against the wall and shrugged out of her hoodie. Conveniently, a nail jutted from a stud near the door and she hung it there. The floor was a bit littered with wood and debris, so she took a few minutes to tidy up. When she went to the next bank of shelves she paused, noticing something odd behind it. It looked like there were hinges on one side.

Working efficiently now that she had the hang of it, she took out the four shelves in rapid succession. Yes, they were hinges. Her gaze moved to the other side, looking for a knob or something, but there was nothing. She scrutinized the wood from the ground up and saw a hook-type fastener holding the door closed. At least she assumed it was a door. A cool draft snaked over her. Definitely a door.