“Yeah? Well, you look so damn hot in anything.” He winked at her. “And in nothing at all.”
He thought she looked especially cute today in her faded blue jeans and white V-neck sweater. Her hair was up in a messy twist, there wasn’t a drop of makeup on her face, and she wore no jewelry except for the plain silver watch around one delicate wrist. He loved that about her, how she didn’t put an obscene amount of time or effort into her appearance. She didn’t need to—her understated, fresh-faced look only made her all the more beautiful.
“Hey, I just realized, your ears aren’t pierced,” he said.
“I know. I always wanted to get it done, but my dad wouldn’t let me,” she admitted. “And then when I got older, I just forgot about it.”
“You still planning on seeing your folks after you talk to Chris?”
“Of course. My mom would murder me if I came to the city and didn’t visit them.”
Dylan stopped at a red light and reached over to rest his hand on her thigh. She smiled at the physical contact and placed her small palm over his knuckles.
“So then I’ll pick you up from their house later?” he asked.
“Sounds like a plan.” With her free hand, she grabbed her phone from her green canvas purse and checked the screen. “No further texts from Chris. I assume he’s meeting me at the apartment at noon like we arranged yesterday.”
Dylan tensed. Rather than calling, Chris had contacted the woman he’d left at the altar via text message last night, asking her to meet. Claire hadn’t told his brother she’d spent the last month in San Diego, but Dylan knew that tidbit would come out today when the two of them spoke.
Again, he couldn’t muster up much guilt over the situation. He knew Chris wouldn’t be happy when he discovered Claire and Dylan were involved, but after everything his brother had done, Dylan didn’t have any sympathy for the guy.
“I’m going to pack another bag when I’m there,” she went on. “I didn’t bring any work clothes with me for the honeymoon.” She paused, bit her lip. “I guess I should pack up my other things too, figure out with Chris who gets what when it comes to furniture and dishes and all that stuff.”
Dylan wondered if Chris would want to keep the apartment. Probably. He remembered his brother raving about how prestigious the location was and how one of the other associates lived in the same building.
For a moment he felt angry on Claire’s behalf—because really, Chris should be the one moving out—but then he let it go. If Claire kept the apartment, that meant she’d be staying in San Francisco, and that was the last thing Dylan wanted. He was praying this three-week extension they’d gotten would lead to an even longer stay on Claire’s part, but he was hesitant to raise the issue. He knew how much Claire loved her job, and he could never ask her to give it up for him and Aidan.
“It’ll all work out,” he assured her. “Doesn’t matter who gets what. Those are just things, and things don’t matter.”
She smiled dryly. “They do to your brother. Knowing him, he’ll want to debate every last item.”
The sedan came to a stop in front of a tall, well-maintained building. “Here we are,” Dylan said as he put the car in park. “Should I wish you luck?”
“Probably.” She sighed. “This is not gonna be fun. I’ll cab it to my parents’ house when I’m done here, and you can grab me whenever you’re done with Shanna. Oh, and tell her I say hi.”
“Sounds good, and I will.” He leaned over the center console and planted a quick kiss on her lips. “Good luck. And give my brother hell—he fucking deserves it.”
Her amber-brown eyes gleamed. “Damn right he does.”
Fifteen minutes later, Dylan was driving across the Golden Gate Bridge into Marin County. With the radio blasting one of his favorite Nirvana songs, he headed east toward San Rafael. As sunny as it was, the temperature was only in the low sixties, and a cool breeze drifted in from the open window. He breathed in the fresh air, enjoying the solitude. Living with a roommate meant he didn’t always have a chance to be alone with his thoughts, and sometimes he craved some Dylan-time.
It wasn’t long before he reached his quaint, tree-lined street and stopped in the driveway of the ranch-style house he’d grown up in.
The house is mother had almost lost due to her gambling addiction.
Jesus.
Shutting off the engine, he grabbed his mom’s Christmas gift from the backseat, which Claire had taken painstaking care to wrap. The red-and-white-striped paper and big red bow made him smile. He couldn’t believe he’d ever thought that Claire didn’t like and respect his mother.
With the gift in hand, he walked up the cobblestone path toward the front door. He let himself in without knocking, immediately struck by a wave of nostalgia as he stood in the front hall and inhaled the familiar smell of home.
“Mom?” he called.