A/N: Holy hell, guys. This chapter was SUPER hard to write. I think it was because, when I first wrote out a chapter outline for how I wanted the events to fall into place, this chapter was more upbeat and flirty. But after how the events unfolded in chapter 6 and 7, of their own accord, I had to alter their moods and the occurrences a bit. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter. I feel like, although there hasn't been a ton of interaction, we're getting a better feel for the characters and why they do the things that they do. I personally like the way the development is panning out. I'm excited to see how you all react to later chapters. I might need to change the rating to "M" for more mature situations.. how does everyone feel about that?
Anyway, as always, I wanted to say thanks for all of the reviews. I have received a few more in other languages, and I google translate all of them as soon as I get them. I'm happy that everyone is liking the story so far- even if it's a little off-putting that Daryl is an ass. As I'm writing, though, I keep thinking back to season 1 and 2, when he was so rough around the edges, quick to get in people's faces and brush people off. I'm thinking about the Daryl that moved his camp away from everyone else, and threatened to cut that one kid's hand off. Daryl does a lot of great development in the show, and I wanted to convey that arc here, as well. He had a rough beginning in life, and being treated kindly is something outside of his comfort zone. So he IS an ass right now, but I want you guys to know I have my reasons, not just because I'm a terrible person and enjoy torturing you all =P
Without further ado, I give you chapter 7, part b. Enjoy!
Chapter 7b
Daryl jerked awake, nearly falling out of the chair he'd been perched in as he slept. A blanket that he hadn't put on himself fell to the floor in a heap, and his hands clutched the soft fabric arms of the dark blue chair. His breathing was heavy, remnants of his nightmare still tickling his memory, slow to recede. The details were fuzzy; he had been running with his crossbow out in front of him, looking for Beth. He'd told her to run from… something. Something had been after them. He got to a road where a backpack she'd been carrying was lying, its contents spilled across the pavement. Driving away into the darkness had been a black car with a white cross taped to the back windshield. Gone, was all he could think as he had started chasing the car, terror clawing through him. She was gone and it was his fault.
Even awake, his heart was still pounding in his throat and the adrenaline was coursing through him. He hadn't had a nightmare since the first night he slept in his da's trailer after he got back to town; the same day as the funeral. He didn't recall what he'd dreamt of then, but he was sure it hadn't been so strange.
He got up and haphazardly folded the blanket, tossing it onto her bed. He wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep, but apparently, she'd made it back to the cabin. She hadn't been lying either; that chair was damned comfortable.
Once he felt a little calmer, he left her room, shutting the bedroom door quietly behind him. Her jacket and purse were slung over one of the kitchen chairs, and she was standing at the stove, stirring something in a pot. The room was warm and whatever she was cooking smelled amazing. He hadn't realized how unbelievably hungry he was until his stomach betrayed him and let out an enormous rumble.
She turned at the sound, finally realizing he was standing in the room.
"Woke up on your own this time I see," she said. Her small smile still didn't quite meet her eyes.
"Seems tha' way," he said simply. He felt really awkward, standing in her kitchen in his bare feet, having just come out of her bedroom. He shifted, not knowing where to look or where to stand, or if he should sit instead.
The cabin itself had always felt like a safe haven to him; he'd stayed in there every time his dad's temper got to a dangerous boiling point. Even when it was cold or dark by the time he got there, he had felt relief upon stepping through the threshold. He always bolted the door behind him, just in case his da' or Merle had followed him out there, but luckily, they never had. The cabin had been the only thing in his childhood that ever felt even remotely like a home to him. Even with no one there, no electricity, and nothing of value belonging to him, it still felt more safe and welcoming than his da's trailer had ever been.
Now, with Beth's touch on everything, it looked even more like a home than he ever imagined it could have. He could hardly remember his mother or the house that burned down with her inside of it when he was a kid, but he was pretty sure that anyone married to Lonnie Dixon probably hadn't been much of a decorator. He'd been to other kids' houses whose moms actually hung pictures of their families on the walls, and had plants near the windows and pillows on the couch. He had been jealous of the home cooked dinners and the kids who had their own rooms. Sometimes as a child, when he'd found himself alone, lying on the floor of the cabin staring up at the ceiling, he had tried to picture what it'd look like if it was decorated like a real home; but he never could quite imagine what that would look like.
As he looked around at Beth's shelves hanging on the wall with little glass knick-knacks on them, the kitchen countertop with her purple toaster, and the pink oven-mit hanging from a peg near her stove, Daryl was grateful that if anyone had to move into his cabin, that it had been her.
Without bothering to ask if he was hungry, Beth ladled soup into two bowls and walked them over to the table. He supposed it'd have been impossible for him to refuse, anyway, since his treacherous stomach had already given him away upon entering the kitchen, so he said nothing.
Standing in her cabin with the daylight streaming in through her windows, he felt like an intruder. The fragments of memories still floating around from the night before kept him very aware of how much he didn't deserve her hospitality; he wasn't even sure why she was still showing him kindness and it made him uncomfortable. Plus, the vague inclinations of the nightmare he'd had of her being taken from him caused a deep-seeded tightening in his chest every time he glanced at her. The idea of someone worse than him laying hands on her made him sick.
Per usual, she had him all twisted up into knots, and he'd rather have skipped the food, despite how good it smelled, and just driven away in his truck. Instead, he took a seat at the table across from her, and they ate together in silence. By the end of lunch, he was pretty sure that it had been the best damn soup he'd ever eaten.
After he'd eaten seconds and sponged the remaining soup out of the bowl using chunks of bread, he rinsed his dishes and set them in the other side of the sink. Beth had been quiet most of the meal, but kept watching him closely, like she was trying to figure something out. He was sure he didn't want to know what, so he didn't bring it up.
He slung his crossbow across his back and stuffed his wallet into his back pocket, and then stood awkwardly, trying to figure out how to say goodbye.
Beth's pink lips curled up in a small smile as she took in his bare feet. "Do you want to wear a pair of my socks home?"
"Nah," he said, glancing down at his feet, feeling self-conscious about whether they looked dirty. He never took her up on her offer to let him shower.
"Anyway, I better get goin'," he said. "I hafta go get some new boots an' stuff."
Beth nodded at him, walking him over to the hook by her door, where she plucked his large ring of keys off. Holding them out to him, she said, "Don't over-do it, okay?"
He took them, feeling his fingertips brush the soft palm of her hand. "I wanted to say thanks," he began. Thank you for what, though? Saving his life? Cleaning his crossbow? Washing his clothes? Putting up with him? Feeding him? So many things he couldn't begin to repay her back for. Things he didn't deserve after the way he had treated her. Shrugging awkwardly, he finished, "for, y'know… all of it."
The first genuine smile he'd seen all day flitted across her face. "You're welcome, Daryl."
He liked the way his name rolled off of her tongue. He hated that he liked it. He stood there, trying to find the words to make their goodbye sound final. To tell her, without being an asshole to her again, that this would be their very last goodbye. He wanted her to stick to her promise from last night. No more kisses on the cheek, no more breakfasts, no more teasing him about his food selections at the grocery store while she grinned at him. She needed to get over whatever it was that drew her to him time and time again, and just be strangers, like they should have been all along.
"Well, I'll see you around," she said before he could get any sentences formed that he needed to say.
He grimaced unintentionally at her words, cursing himself for not being the first one to speak. Now he had to hurt her feelings again.
She caught the look on his face and understood it immediately. He watched her expression fall, and he hated that he had to be the one to do it, but it was for her own good.
"I'm sorry. I just…" he mumbled, unsure of what to say to her that she hadn't already guessed.
"No," she said firmly, holding a hand in front of him. "I made you a promise last night in exchange for your cooperation. You held up your end of the deal, so I'll honor mine."
Daryl stood there, just staring at her. She seemed genuine, without a tear in sight. He knew it was the right thing for them; maybe she finally sensed it now, too.
"I feel like we could've been good friends," she said, smiling at him a little sadly, "but you don't feel the same way about us. That's okay. It's not something that should be forced."
"'s for the best," he replied, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He was getting what he'd wanted, but he didn't feel relieved about it like he thought he would.
Beth shrugged one shoulder, considering his words. "Yeah. Maybe it is."
She took a bold step forward and wrapped both arms around his waist, giving him the most affectionate hug he'd ever recalled receiving. He didn't move to return it, but the air around him felt colder when she let go and stepped back from him.
Beth turned and grabbed a little white paper bag off of the stand next to the door. She handed it over to him, and he realized it was his prescription from the pharmacy.
When he reached back for his wallet, she shook her head at him. "They weren't a lot. Consider us even; the pills for your broken window."
He nodded, but knew they'd never be even for all of the shit she'd done for him. He peered down at her through the hair that had fallen in his face, staring a couple of seconds too long; memorizing her.
"Bye, Beth," he said, walking out of her cabin and out of her life.
A week and then some had gone by since Daryl's incident in the river, and the resulting stay at Beth's cabin. Like she'd promised, he had seen neither hide nor hair of her. As soon as he'd gotten back to the trailer that day, he had known what a true asshole he'd been to her. The window in the front of his cabin was indeed shattered, but when he went to clean up the little shards of glass, he noticed some that had red droplets of blood on them. Further inspecting what was still stuck in the window, he found a piece that was browned with day-old blood, where Beth had apparently cut herself trying to climb in. She'd neither mentioned it, nor showed it to the doctor, so he only hoped it hadn't been too deep.
Look what she got for all her troubles, he chided himself as he picked up.
The only other thing out of place in the trailer was all of the random shit strewn about on the counter top where she'd cleaned everything out of one of the drawers while she was no doubt looking for his keys. He scooped it all back in there, and then finished cleaning up the glass, using duct tape wrapped backwards around his hands. His da' had never owned a vacuum cleaner in all his life, so there wasn't one in the trailer to use.
After Daryl cleaned all remnants of Beth's visit to the trailer, he patched up the window temporarily, not looking forward to trying to buy a brand new pane of glass to install. In the back of one of the closets, he found a pair of rough-looking old boots that had probably belonged to Merle at one point. Their feet were different sizes, but only barely, so Daryl figured the boots would do until he could afford nicer ones, like the ones he kicked off in the river.
He'd fallen asleep for the rest of the day, curled on the couch in a blanket to ward off the chill seeping in through the poorly patched window. The next morning, despite doctor's orders, Daryl had gone into work, bright and early. At the beginning of the week, his shoulder had been pretty tight and sore, but as the days wore on, it began loosening up. By the weekend, it had felt much better.
He hadn't bothered to leave the trailer Saturday or Sunday, just moped around in the shed along the back side of the trailer that barely passed as a garage. It wasn't quite big enough for a car, but Merle's bike fit in there just fine, with all of the tools strewn about, so that's where Daryl kept it. If Daryl didn't take good care of Merle's bike, he was like to kick his ass as soon as he got out of the slammer, anyway. Some criminals worried about their children and their women when they got locked up; Merle worried about his bike.
Another Monday had come and gone, and Daryl found that the first whole week without Beth was the most he'd seen of her since he ran into her that day out in the woods. To be fair, he hadn't seen her, at all. The problem was everything that reminded him of her.
He'd had dreams with her in them on Monday night, leaving his mind reeling with thoughts of her all day on Tuesday. He worked on a car Wednesday that was the exact shade of blue as her eyes. Thursday had been ladies' day, where all women coming in for an oil change got a discount. There had been 4 or 5 leggy little blondes walking through the parking lot that day. Each time he saw a flutter of white-blond hair, his heart slammed into his throat, but it was never her. Friday, an older lady had pulled in for a tune-up. Under one arm, she'd been carrying an ugly, yappy little dog. Everything was fine until she set the thing on the counter to dig through her purse, and Daryl realized that the little dog was the exact shade of russet as the huge dog in the woods that had chased Beth, and then caused him to fall into the river. A flood of memories concerning that night washed over him, and he glared at the little dog until the old lady had gotten unnerved and chose to wait outside until they were done servicing her vehicle.
Every time he came home, he looked at the broken window and recalled the glass she'd cut herself on trying to get into his trailer to find his truck keys. Even his truck was unsettling to him, because every time he went to climb in it, he pictured her sitting in his driver's seat, miles of bare leg stretched along the bench, calf muscles bunching as she used the balls of her toes to press on the gas and the brake as she sped him to the urgent care clinic.
She had promised him that she would leave him alone for good, yet somehow, she'd managed to drive him more crazy during the whole first week she was gone than any other time in his life since he'd laid eyes on her.
Finally, it was Tuesday again, and Daryl had mostly kept his mind on his work for the whole morning. He stepped out to grab lunch at a fast food joint down the way, and brought back some burgers and fries that his boss requested he pick up for him at the end of his break.
Despite the minor distraction from time to time, work had been going really well for him. A couple of the guys had heard about him before he started working there, but hadn't exactly grown up where he did, so the Dixon stories were just rumors to them. Once he was hired on, he worked hard to prove himself and earn more money to save up, and the guys gradually relaxed around him. He wouldn't necessarily consider any of them friends, even after the three and a half months of working there with them, but they were at least cordial and obliging while he was at work. The new kid his boss, Ron, had hired was still making some mistakes here and there, but he was a quick learner and eager to please. Sometimes he annoyed Daryl with how damn helpful and polite he always was, but Daryl cut him some slack because the kid wasn't afraid to take his own blame and pull his weight.
Daryl opened the door to the empty waiting room and strode past the front desk toward to hallway where the break-room and Ron's office were located, balancing the bag of food and the drink he'd brought back for Ron.
"Daryl, hold up," he heard the new kid, Mark, shout at him from the door to the service drive as he was walking down the hallway. Whatever it was could wait until his hands weren't full, he figured.
Daryl swung Ron's door open, ready to stride in and throw the bag of food onto his desk. Ron opened his mouth to say something, but at the sight of a blonde woman sitting in the chair across from Ron's desk bent over in her chair signing some paperwork, Daryl backtracked as quickly as possible and pulled the door shut gently. Ron's door was generally closed to conserve heat, so it wasn't unusual for them to just walk in there, but it was the second time in as many weeks that one of the guys had interrupted him while he was dealing with a customer, something Ron wasn't bound to like. As a man running his own business ought to think, customers were always Ron's top priority.
As he was walking back out of the break-room, where he'd stashed Ron's lunch, Daryl saw Mark perched anxiously at the mouth of the hallway. "Sorry," he said, pushing his thick glasses up the bridge of his nose. "I was trying to warn you there was someone in Ron's office."
"No problem," Daryl responded. "Ain't the firs' time that's happened to Ron, and I reckon it won't be the last, either."
"Didja get an eye-full of the blonde in there with him, though? That was one hot piece of ass who walked in here," one of the other guys chimed in. Ian was his name, and Daryl didn't think too highly of him. All the dude talked about was women, drinking, sex, and drunken sex. Even though Ian could probably only attract the same kind of women as Daryl and Merle, he tended to bark up the wrong trees and get himself into trouble. He was a couple of sharp crayons short of a box, and most everything that came out of his mouth was derogatory, bigotry, dirty, or egotistical. Daryl suspected that the only reason Ron had kept him around this long was because he was the only guy there that knew foreign cars inside and out.
"You think e'ry girl is a hot piece o' ass," Daryl remarked dryly.
"Well, ain't they?" Ian asked, positioning his hands like he was holding an invisible basketball, and then thrusting his hips toward them. He laughed at his own idiocy and then backed out of the door leading to the service drive. Mark, who was the kind of guy who probably carried damsels across puddles of water, wrinkled his nose in distaste at Ian's antics.
Daryl ignored Ian, but couldn't help being distracted by the blonde hair he caught a glimpse of. Being reminded of Beth over and over again on a daily basis was getting exhausting. He'd hardly even known the damn girl; he couldn't fathom why he was having troubles just letting her go and getting on with his life.
Changing the subject in an attempt to pull himself back into his work, Daryl asked, "So what's she doin' in Ron's office? Was there a screw-up with her vehicle or somethin'?"
"Naw," Mark said, leaning his elbows on the counter and staring out the front windows. They were fairly slow, even for a Tuesday, so they had been taking turns hanging out at the front desk in order to thaw out and warm up in between customers. "She came in over the weekend to look at the Jeep Ron has for sale. She liked it and I guess they talked numbers, so she came back in today to hand over a check and get the title transferred over to her. Oscar's out there right now changing the oil and all the filters on it for her, per Ron's request."
Daryl had lost interest in the conversation as soon as Mark mentioned the Jeep; as long as it wasn't a complaint over the type of job he'd done on a vehicle, then it wasn't any concern to him. He grunted to acknowledge he'd been listening to Mark, but began inputting part numbers into the system from their last inventory that still hadn't been entered.
"Can I watch how you do that?" Mark asked, coming to stand at Daryl's shoulder.
"Yeah," he said, "jus' don't be breathin' down my neck or anythin'."
After another ten minutes had passed, Daryl heard the door open to Ron's office, and he ushered the customer into the waiting area.
"Don't hesitate to call up here if you need anything for that Jeep, alright? I took good care of it, but if you have any troubles or hear any weird noises, let us know. That gentleman in the glasses is Mark, and the one next to him is Daryl. Daryl looks mean, but he don't bite."
Daryl heard Mark stutter a hello to the girl, and scowled at Ron's assessment of him. He finished entering the last of the part numbers for that column and glanced up so he'd at least recognize the girl if she came back in with Jeep problems later on.
He froze in place, and it felt like all of the air had been sucked out of the room. Staring straight back at him from across the room was Beth. She looked like a different version of herself than he'd ever seen. Any time he had been with her, she'd been messed up from the woods, falling off of grocery shelves, muddy, wet, and the like. It was the first time he'd seen her as she was now; dressed casually, but nicely, for the meeting with his boss. Her hair was loose, and fell down over her shoulders in large ringlet curls. She was wearing a brown leather jacket that ended just below her ribcage, making her torso look longer. Her shirt was plain, black, and simple, paired with nice jeans that rode low on her hips, held up by a thick leather belt that matched her jacket. Her boots were Western-style with intricate stitching, and silver on the tips. Nothing that she was wearing was revealing or particularly provocative, and yet, as he stared, he couldn't help but think she was the sexiest woman he'd seen in there so far.
He hadn't realized how much he'd craved laying eyes on her until she was standing right in front of him.
"He looks like he bites a little," she said mockingly, never taking her eyes off of him as he studied her.
Ron barked in laughter, clapping her on the back as he did so. "Damn but I like you."
Daryl couldn't move. He felt like an animal caught in a beam of light; frozen, scared, disoriented.
"I'm going to check on the Jeep for you, see how Oscar is coming along with it," Ron said, sweeping into the service drive.
Mark stuttered, either shy around pretty girls or sensing the tension in the room, as he asked, "Ma'am… would you like a… a glass of, um, water? Well, not a glass, really. A cup; a plastic one? With water?"
Beth smiled so sweetly at him that it burned Daryl's insides just watching her. "I would love a cup of water, thank you Mark."
Mark hurried off to the break room to get her some from their water cooler, leaving Daryl alone with her.
Beth's eyes were troubled when she finally looked back at Daryl. "I didn't know you worked here, Daryl; I promise I'm not in here to bug you. I've just been looking for a good vehicle to replace my car, something that won't get stuck in the mud, you know? I saw the ad for Ron's Jeep, and I figured it would be a good buy; a Jeep owned by a guy who also owned a mechanic shop probably isn't neglected."
His chest felt heavy when he realized that she was concerned he'd get mad at her again, just for accidentally showing up where he worked. He'd done a fine job of showing her what a dick he was, that was for sure.
"Don' worry 'bout it," he said softly. "I never told you where I worked, anyway."
Beth smiled at Mark as he came back and held the cup out for her at arm's length. She took it politely, thanking him, and took a long drink from it. All of the times she'd brought Daryl water when he was injured, and he couldn't even bring himself to think to offer her water from the back. Unbelievable.
"The Jeep's in good condition," Daryl told her, trying for another conversation starter. "I've worked on it myself a time or two. It'll last you a long time, if you let it."
"Thanks," she responded.
He tried not to be disappointed by her lack of participation in a conversation with him. This is, after all, what he'd wanted from her. No familiarity, no warmth, no treating him as anything special. He had wanted to be nothing to her, and now it seemed that he'd gotten exactly that.
Ron came back into the building, smiling warmly at Beth. "Alright, Ms. Greene, your new Jeep awaits. Oscar replaced all of the filters and oil, and put a new sticker on the windshield so you'll know when to come back in for a servicing. I have a call I have to take, I apologize. But it was a real pleasure doing business with you," he held out his hand, which Beth shook firmly, echoing his sentiments and promising to see him again in three months.
After Ron had retreated into his office, Beth walked over to throw her empty cup into the trash bin.
As she went for the door, she paused and told Daryl, "I've heard good things about the shop over off of Sherwin Street, so don't worry about seeing me back here again."
He could feel Mark staring at him as he watched Beth saunter off through the parking lot to get to her new Jeep. As he looked on, Ian jogged out of the service drive and across to where she stood, waiting for him after he'd called out to her.
Oscar entered the lobby from the side door then, chuckling to himself as he stood at the window, watching Beth and Ian conversing. "That fool said he was asking her out. I can't wait to see this end badly."
Ian ask Beth out? She'd see right through him; she was a smart girl, smart enough to know when someone was a complete idiot. He knew Beth would never go for someone like Ian. But he also knew that Beth was too nice for her own damn good, and he wasn't so sure she'd turn Ian down.
Before he could think about what he was doing, he was shoving the door out of his way and striding across the parking lot.
As he approached them, he could see the blush in Beth's cheeks, and that she was smiling uncomfortably at Ian, trying to remain polite.
In the middle of Ian getting to the point, Daryl made it over to them and barked, "Ian!"
Ian flinched and swirled around to stare at Daryl. "I'm like, right in the middle of somethin', man,"
"Yeah, Oscar done told me what you were in the middle of. Yer done now. Go back inside," Daryl said firmly, pointing back at the lobby where Oscar and Mark were both pressed up against the windows, watching the scene unfold.
"Dude, be cool. What the hell is your problem?" Ian asked, ignoring Daryl's request.
He gritted his teeth and said, "We don' ask out our customers on dates. Tha's my problem."
Ian scoffed at Daryl and said, "Oscar asks women out all tha time! That ain't no rule!"
"It is now," Daryl growled.
"You can't just go around making shit up and throwing your weight around like you…" Ian shut his mouth as Daryl leaned down and got nose to nose with him. "Like I what, Ian? You got somethin' you wanna say to me?"
Ian only shook his head, the shock of Daryl's aggression clear on his face.
"As for tha rules," Daryl ground out, "I can make 'em up, and I jus' did. Go. Back. In. Side."
Ian choked out, "Yes, Mr. Dixon." Then, without bothering to spare another look at Beth, Ian turned and walked stiffly back toward the lobby, where Daryl could see Oscar bent over in tears and Mark's eyes wide behind his thick glasses.
His blood was rushing through his veins, and he knew that his fight-or-flight had been seconds from kicking in; and one thing a Dixon didn't do was flee. He turned to see Beth staring at him with a dark expression on her face.
"You don't always have to be the bully, Daryl," she said softly.
"Apparently, I did," he retorted, throwing his hand out in the direction of Ian's retreating form. "Damned fool don't listen to nobody."
"He was just asking me out, Daryl. What's the harm in that?"
"There's plenty o' harm in that," Daryl answered tersely. "Ian's an idiot."
"Well, it isn't like I would've said yes to him," Beth said.
Daryl remained silent, not really wanting to admit that he feared she would have.
Despite his silence, Beth was keen to pick up on it, though, and she laughed before she said, "Wait, you thought I was going to say yes?"
"Well, how tha hell was I s'pposed to know?" Daryl shot back, raking a hand through his hair in aggravation. "You're too damn nice for your own good mosta tha time, an' it's not like I know what you like in… men. I didn' know, a'right?"
"Well, if you thought I might have liked him, then why did you yell at him until he ran away?" she asked, her Cheshire cat grin plastered to her face.
Daryl could feel his cheeks burning. "You tend ta take a likin' to everythin' an' everyone, even if they're no good for ya."
Beth lost some of her elation and asked him seriously, "Who else do you think isn't any good for me?"
Daryl stared at her, clenching his jaw, willing himself not to say it out loud.
But he didn't need to- she got it, anyway. All she said was, "Oh."
"Look, the shop offa Sherwin Street… they overcharge. We've already got all the history on tha Jeep; ain't no sense in takin' it somewhere else on account o' me." He shifted uncomfortably, unsure as to what he was trying to accomplish with her now.
"You sure?" she asked, and they both knew it was a loaded question. They weren't just talking about bringing the Jeep back in three months.
"Yeah, I'm sure," he responded. He hoped to hell that he didn't regret it.
"Thanks, Daryl," she said sincerely, smiling at him a little bit.
He grunted in response, and turned to walk back inside. As he heard her open the door, he turned back and said, "Hey." She paused, waiting for him to say what he was going to say.
"The Jeep… suits ya," he blurted out, fisting his hands nervously in his pockets.
Beth grinned and bit her bottom lip between her teeth. "See you in three months, then, Mr. Dixon."
She hopped in the neon green monster and drove out of the parking lot.
All he could think about was the pink lip she'd bitten between her teeth and the way Mr. Dixon had sounded coming out of her mouth. He detoured away from the front of the building, deciding it would be better to take a longer walk around the back, sticking to the cold air as long as possible.
He already knew he was going to regret his decision to have her back in his life. She wasn't just a pretty face with trusting blue eyes and a weakness for broken things; she was more than that. She was honest, and pure, and good. She had hope and a spark for life that he couldn't even fathom.
She was the very thing that he feared would destroy him.