Cupcake Club 04 - Honey Pie by Donna Kauffman Page A

back to the business of moving her things over to the B&B and getting her out of his personal space. Permanently. He’d pay to expedite the parts for her car, whatever, but this was way more than he wanted to deal with. “It was an electrical fire,” he told her, firmly, if gently. “Wiring shorted out in one of the storage units, and yes, wind carried the sparks and set my garage on fire. It was an accident.”
    â€œEveryone is okay? Lolly—she’s trapped!”
    â€œHoney,” he said, a bit more sharply than intended, but he had to snap her out of this . . . trance, or whatever the hell she was in, and he wasn’t about to risk touching her to do it. “I got Lolly out. We’re both fine. You know that, you’ve seen it with your own eyes. Remember?”
    Her gaze sharpened on his. “You almost weren’t. You could have died.” Her voice was a hushed whisper, laced with trembling horror as if she were there, in the moment, watching it all happen. “That beam, the second one, caught the back of your shirt. If you’d been one second later, getting to Lolly—oh, Dylan, you’d have both been lost!”
    Okay, that stopped him dead. He gaped at her, stunned, and not a little freaked out. No one knew about the second beam. Not the fireman, not the local EMT, not the vet. He’d never told anyone about the burns on his back. He’d spent the night at the vet’s with the dog, had shrugged off—rather firmly—suggestions that he should be looked at for smoke inhalation, at the very least. He’d been fine. The dog had not.
    He also knew, in retrospect, that it had been a lot easier to focus on what the dog needed than to think about the total loss of the business his grandfather had started, and the wildly varying emotional responses he was likely to have about that once reality began to sink in. So he’d put off thinking, as long as he could, anyway, and focused his attention where it could do some good.
    He wished he could do the same with whatever the hell was happening right that very moment.
    â€œHoney.” He barked it this time. “Look at me, dammit. Look. At. Me.” Sometimes when Dylan’s father had gotten really wasted, he’d have these waking nightmares about losing his dad, his wife, about Mickey. The only way Dylan could get him out of it was to jerk his attention in a clean snap. A slap to the face would have done it, but nothing would ever provoke Dylan to raise his hand to anyone, ever. So he’d used his voice like a verbal slap then, as he did now. “Focus,” he ordered, redirecting her. “We need to unpack your car. Lolly is in the truck, waiting.”
    â€œLolly.” Honey’s head jerked, but her eyes looked a little less wild, and her voice was somewhat calmer. She finally glanced from him to the open bay door and the truck sitting just beyond it. “She’s in the truck.”
    It was the first rational thing she’d said, and his relief was profound. He focused on that, and simply shoved the rest aside. For the time being.
    â€œYes,” he said, still forcefully, but evenly. “She needs us to unpack this car. Do you understand?”
    â€œLolly needs us.” Honey looked back to Dylan. Her trembling had stopped and color was seeping back into her cheeks. “She’s really okay?”
    â€œShe’s fine. She great. You’ve seen her. Petted her. Do you want to go out and see her now?”
    He expected Honey to nod and maybe stumble off toward the truck. At least she’d calmed down and wasn’t freaking out any longer. Instead, she was freaking him out. She reached up and very purposefully put her hands on his face. He went rigid, his heart skipping multiple beats as he waited to see if the trance would start all over again. He was a breath away from jerking back from her touch when she spoke.
    â€œAre you okay?” She asked