Crazy (The Gibson Boys 4)

I look up into Dylan’s face. She eyes me carefully like she can see through me. It’s a little unnerving.

Nana sits in her rocking chair that faces the kitchen from the living room. She cringes as she gets settled.

“Where are you from, Dylan?” Nana asks.

“Indiana. I was born in Detroit, though. We moved when I was little—six or seven, I think—so I don’t remember much about it there.”

“What brought you to Linton?”

“Well, I suppose I looked up one day and realized I wasn’t where I was supposed to be.” She looks up at me and gives me the shyest smile. “I needed some space. New friends. To be closer to Navie because she gets me.”

My chest fills with a warmth that almost burns. “I can’t imagine anyone not loving your fuzzy personality,” I tease.

“Believe it or not, I can be a little too … fiery … for some people,” she says with a wink.

“Yeah, well, every group of friends needs a firecracker.”

She laughs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“You know what I think?” Nana asks.

We both look at her. She rocks gently back and forth, a look of pure contentment on her face. “I think every firecracker needs someone to light their fuse for them to really glow.” She scoots to the end of her chair before hoisting herself up to her feet. “Now, who’s ready for dinner?”

My gaze catches Dylan’s somewhere over the middle of the island. Slowly, our faces break into a smile as something is shared during the quiet exchange. Whatever it is, it ends with Dylan’s bright laughter.

Dylan stands. “Can I help you get it ready, Nana?”

“I’d love that,” she says.

They work side by side, Nana telling war stories from the kitchen as Dylan listens intently. They laugh like old friends as they plan the changes for the kitchen. I don’t think they even notice when I get up and slip out the back door.

Planting my hands on the railing, I look at the dark sky. Stars are sprinkled above and shine down like Christmas lights twinkling softly.

I fill my lungs with air and blow it out in one long, steady gush.

My head is filled with so many thoughts. There’s a fullness in my chest that I can’t ease either. Seeing Dylan here—being so sweet to Nana and so damn pretty with a layer of orneriness just under the surface—is so confusing.

Mostly because I like it.

And I think I could probably get used to it, if I wanted to.

“Easy, Peck,” I whisper. “Don’t get in over your head here.”

Because I’m not. Yet. But I might be on my way if I don’t catch myself now.

Eleven

Dylan

“Oh, screw it.”

I rip the blankets off me. Blowing out a breath, I kick until my feet are on top of the sheets. The room is cool and dark and quiet enough to fall into a peaceful sleep.

Except I can’t. Closing my eyes just makes things worse.

My brain is too busy to let me rest. It’s like a squirrel has taken up residence inside my head. It’s bouncing from one topic to the other, replaying the events of tonight over and over again.

I can’t shake the feeling in my stomach—the one I get every time I think about Peck and Nana and dinner in her little kitchen. Nana asking me questions like she really wanted to get to know me threw me for a loop. Sure, she did it because she thought I was Peck’s girlfriend, but still. She asked.

A soft laugh breaks the stillness around me as I recall Peck’s reaction to her assumption. He was so adorable as he tried to make it clear we aren’t dating.

Because we’re not.

I flex my toes and then point them. Back and forth, they go as I try to distract myself from my new landlord. That’s easier said than done. He’s taken up most of my brainpower since we got home, and I can’t seem to shake it. Or him. Or whatever this is that’s ruining my sleep.

Peck is an anomaly, an unexpected layering of a man who is so much more than he appears. At first glance, he’s your typical good ole boy. An adorable class clown type that can’t be serious if he tried.

But that’s not all he is. Navie is a good judge of character, so I always knew he’d be a good and kind person. If she trusts him, I do too.

But seeing him care for his nana … how attentive he was, how gentle. And then how he quickly offered me a place to stay when he didn’t have to.

I’ve gotten glimpses of more, and I can’t help but wonder what else there is to see when it comes to Peck Ward.

“Ugh,” I groan. I grab my phone and fire a text to Navie.

Me: Can’t sleep. Tell me a story.