Free Only in My Dreams by Darcy Burke

away.”
    Her nose scrunched up forming a little pleat at the bridge. “You live that close?”
    â€œOff Sebastian Hill Road.”
    â€œI didn’t realize. You are close.”
    â€œI could walk, in fact.” He glanced up at the sky. “Though I think I’d get drenched. Rain’s coming in again.”
    She looked up. “I better get back inside.”
    He tried to read her expression, but she didn’t give a thing away. “Did I sway you at all?”
    She twirled a bracelet around her hand and then ran her thumb across the flat side of it. “A little.” She smiled. “You’re very passionate.” The color returned to her cheeks, but this was a deeper pink than before.
    â€œI want this job.” With the same ferocity he’d wanted her that night—a night that should’ve faded in his memory. His conquests—and he had no problem admitting that’s what they were—were always one and done. Not like Sara. He wasn’t going to be able to file her away or forget about her completely. She’d be in his face, tempting him. And, damn, he was tempted.
    She returned his stare, maybe sensing his desire—both for the job and for her. “My dad always says to be careful what you wish for.”
    A plump raindrop hit her nose, galvanizing her into action. “Ack! I need to get a file from Tori’s car and get back in before it pours again. We’ll be in touch soon.” She turned to go.
    â€œSara, wait.”
    Pausing, she looked back at him over her shoulder.
    â€œI was really sorry to hear about Alex.”
    She averted her gaze. “Thanks.”
    There was nothing else he could say. Nothing else he could do. Except he sort of wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her, just for a moment. But he didn’t. The rain started falling, and she raced to her sister’s car. After she retrieved the file, she tossed him a lingering glance before going back inside.
    Dylan retreated to his truck. By the time he buckled his seatbelt, the rain was pelting hard and fast. Puddles were already forming in the mud.
    His back pocket vibrated. He pulled his phone out and saw the text from his mom: We still on for lunch tomorrow?
    Lunch. Right . Mom liked to see him a couple of times a month, which shouldn’t have been difficult since she only lived thirty minutes or so away, but Dylan didn’t love spending time with her and knew that made him sound like a complete jerk. Out of a sense of guilt, he scheduled a lunch with her every few weeks, but often had to cancel if a job came up. Work always came first. However, since he didn’t have anything scheduled for tomorrow, he supposed he should confirm. He texted her back: See you at 12:30 .
    He started the truck and swung it around toward the road, windshield wipers at full tilt.
    As expected, there was no response from her. No “Can’t wait” or “Looking forward to it.” There was never any sentimentality or warmth. Mom was as no-nonsense as they came—forthright, tell-it-like-it-is, don’t-expect-any-gushing. About anything. Most mothers cherished everything their kids made, and he supposed she did—in her own way. But she hadn’t bothered to keep even one of the Mother’s Day presents he’d made for her in school. Sure, she put them on the mantel for a few weeks, but then they disappeared. Later on, she’d admitted that she’d tossed all of them because she hated clutter.
    He suddenly thought of the Archers. He bet their mom kept all of their stuff, even though there were so many of them. He also thought of the good-natured ribbing between the siblings. Dylan had three half-brothers and a half-sister, and he loved each of them, but he wasn’t really a part of either family. His dad, stepmom, and brothers were a unit, and his mom, stepdad, and sister were another unit. He’d always felt like a fifth wheel. It was