“Why don’t you get the hell outta here?” I call down the hall. “It’s Friday afternoon—it’s already the weekend. Go home!”
He replies from around the corner, “I’m going, I’m going, just want to finish something up! You need to get out of here too, cuz.”
“I’m going soon too.”
As I start gathering my stuff to head out, Sam’s comment about family gatherings over the holidays gets me thinking; I wonder what Reed’s plans are for the holidays. I make a mental note to find out tomorrow night.
Chapter 14
REED
Fuckingfinally. The last few weeks of having Dylan around my house working have been amazing and unsettling at the same time. My confusing feelings about him, combined with working a ton of hours, have made this time insanely busy. But getting to talk with him most days over these weeks has been awesome. The more I learn about him, the more I want to know. I can’t help myself. He’s smart and kind and funny as fuck once you get to know him. He’s amazing. I don’t know what I’m doing, but the feelings are too strong for me to ignore any longer. I’m going to try to relax and see what develops. I’m still terrified of hurting him, but I keep reminding myself that he can make his own choices. It makes me feel awfully vulnerable though. I hope like hell I don’t fuck the whole thing up.
Closing out the last of my paperwork from today’s shift, I’m relieved we don’t get another emergency busting through the doors. I genuinely love my job, but sometimes the stress and the adrenaline rushes I deal with every day are tough to handle. But now I have a whole week off, and I can’t fucking wait to see Dylan and spend an entire evening together. And if I’m really fucking lucky, maybe even more than that.
Approaching Dylan’s neighborhood, I realize he wasn’t joking when he said it’s dark up this way. I’ve lived and worked in the city for so long I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like to be in this kind of dark environment. It’s rainy and moonless, my headlights reflecting off the wet ground and the windshield wipers working overtime.
Pulling into a long driveway, I cross through a row of large fir trees lined along the perimeter of his property. As I head up the long driveway, the main house is lit up like a Christmas tree. It’s a ranch-style home with an attached garage and a big picture window facing out onto the property. Partway down the driveway is what looks like a small barn with paddocks outside. He’s told me about his horses, so that must be where they hang out.
I decide to leave my overnight bag in the car for now—I don’t want to make any assumptions—and I jog from my SUV to the front door, grinning from ear to ear, anxious to see him.
Before I even get a chance to ring the bell, he opens the door, and I’m hit squarely in the chest by how attractive he is.
His dark hair is a little on the long side, and it curls over the collar of his shirt. The dark-wash jeans he’s wearing are tight around his lean thighs, and before I can stop it, my mind gets busy picturing what those delicious muscles would feel like under my hands… or under my tongue… Er—
“Hi,” he says, his dark eyes settling on me, making my stomach do a backflip.
I’ve been doing a little reading about autism—what it feels like for some people and how partners of autistic people can support them. I don’t want to make any assumptions, but even if we only end up as friends, I want to know more about him. There’s something about Dylan Campbell that draws me in and refuses to let me go.
“Hey,” I say back to him with a big smile. Just as I lean in to kiss his cheek, I hear a couple of sharp barks, and suddenly, a small pack of dogs is galloping down the hall toward us.
“This must be David, Alexis, and Kramer, right?” I look at him to confirm I got the dogs’ names right as I crouch down to give them all some scratches.
“Wow, you remembered my dogs’ names?” he asks, his eyes wide with surprise. “I’m impressed.”
I grin proudly. “Good,” I say with a self-satisfied smirk. “That’s what I was going for.”
Dylan chuckles. “Come on in.”
I follow him around the corner into a big, open great room with vaulted ceilings. Beautiful cedar beams run the width of the room, giving it a rustic feeling. The floors are hardwood, and a plush, gray area rug sits under the big neutral-colored sectional. His dogs, apparently satisfied I’m neither a threat nor am I hiding treats from them, have all made themselves comfortable on the various doggy beds scattered around.
The kitchen is bright and roomy, with light gray cabinets and stainless-steel appliances. Hanging over the island are three beautiful pendant lights that remind me of bubbles in a champagne glass. The kitchen is spotless, even though there’s something on the stove that smells beyond delicious.
“I thought you said you didn’t cook!” I say to him with a grin as I place the bottle of white wine I brought on the counter.
He smiles shyly. “I said I don’t cook a lot, but I do know how. This is an old recipe my mom used to make.”
“Well, it smells fucking amazing, whatever it is,” I say as my stomach lets out a loud growl.
“It’s actually ready now, so if you’re hungry, we can eat right away if you like,” he offers.
“That would be great since, as you can tell, I’m starving.” We both chuckle.
“Why don’t you pour the wine,” he says, turning back to the stove.
The big, rustic farm table is already set, flickering candles casting a soft glow throughout the room.
I pour the wine as Dylan sets a plate in front of me that looks like it could have come from a five-star restaurant.