Tumble (Dogwood Lane 1)

He rubs a hand down his face. “It’s like he’s not even the same person. With Matt and me, yeah. Still an asshole. But with Mia he’s a pussy. She gets whatever she wants.”

“That’s the way it should be with a grandpa.” I giggle. “I knew he’d be a good one. I thought one day . . .” My voice trails off. Something I can’t put my finger on flits through Dane’s eyes, but I look away. “Anyway, I knew he’d be a good one.”

“Let’s go say hi to Dad before we get out of here.” His voice is so low that I almost don’t hear him. He turns toward the house and begins his trek back.

I keep a few steps behind him, getting the feeling Dane needs a bit of space. Maybe I need some too. Mentally kicking myself for getting too comfortable, I look up to see Nick watching us.

“Well, if that ain’t a sight for sore eyes. Come here and give me a hug,” he says.

The lines on Nick’s face show his age, proof of a life that hasn’t always been easy. Still, he’s as handsome as ever. His eyes still shine the same green as Dane’s, and his strong jawline is hidden by a neatly trimmed beard.

“How are you?” I let him pull me into his arms. He squeezes me, scents of tobacco and cherries whisking me back to another time and place. “You look good,” I tell him.

“Ah, hell. You don’t have to sweet-talk me.”

“Who said I’m sweet-talking anyone?” I wink. “Seriously. You look good, Nick.”

“Well, thank ya. You look like you’re doing great, kiddo.”

I laugh at his term of endearment. “I’m doing good. Working hard, staying out of trouble. Isn’t that what you drilled into us?”

He gives Dane the side-eye. “Glad someone listened to me.”

“You know Dane. Always the hardhead,” I say, trying not to laugh.

“Me?” Dane looks from me to his dad, then back to me. “You two are full of it.”

“I’m just saying, son. If you would’ve listened to me, you would’ve put a ring on this girl’s finger ages ago.”

Dane glares at Nick as I slide out from between the two of them. Mia thankfully chooses this time to squeal from the pond that Shamu has been located.

“You two better behave,” I tell the men on either side of me.

“Neely! Come on!” Mia yelps again.

I feel their gazes on my back as I head toward the pond. “Let me see,” I say. Standing next to Mia, I take in the blue-and-white fish that’s double the size of the others. “Oh, that is a big one.”

“I know. He’s my favorite.” She blows a lock of hair out of her eyes.

“Come here. Let me fix that.” I unfasten her elastic and pull her hair into a high ponytail. All the times my mother used to do this to me come flooding back, and as I swipe the band over her hair, I grin. “There you go. All better.”

“Thanks,” she says, looking at me over her shoulder.

“You two ready?” Dane’s voice sweeps across the water.

I turn around. Nick has his hand on Dane’s shoulder, saying something to him I can’t hear. Dane nods but doesn’t look convinced. He just watches me with a trepidation in his eyes that throws me off. Our gazes lock for a split second before I pull mine away.

“You ready, Mia?” I ask her.

“Can we get ice cream?”

“You’re gonna turn into ice cream,” Dane warns her.

Mia scoops up the cereal boxes and gives them to her grandfather. He gives her a kiss on her cheek before she follows her father through the gate. It bangs shut behind her. I stop by the old man.

“It was good seeing you, Nick.”

“It was good seeing you. Come see me more often. Say hello. I practically raised you, and you took off and forgot all about me.”

“I’m sorry,” I tell him. “I’ll keep in touch.”

“You do that.” He kisses my cheek and opens the gate. Before I’m all the way out, he speaks again. “Neely?”

“Yeah?”

“Keep in touch with that boy of mine too. I know he can be a pain in the ass, but you’re good for him. And I think he’s good for you too.”

I don’t confirm or deny, partially because I’m unsure. Instead, I give him a smile and head to the truck.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

DANE

Bowl or plate?” I ask.

“Do we have garlic bread?” Mia asks, surveying the kitchen.

“Do I ever make spaghetti without garlic bread?”

She eyes me. “When you forget to buy it. But I’m not judging you because I can’t feed myself.”

“Yes, smarty-pants. We have garlic bread. So, bowl or plate?”

“Bowl. I like to dip the bread in the sauce, and the bowl lets me dip better.”

“So scientific,” I mutter. Putting on the oven mitts, I retrieve the bread from the oven and pop it on top of the stove. The air is filled with a garlicky scent that’s one of my favorite kitchen smells. Much better than that damn lavender soap.