friends who never ignored me. You never treated me like the weird fat girl.”
“I never saw you that way,” Dylan said, surprised. “And it’d make me feel better if you’d accept my apology...”
“Then I accept.” It felt as if she just might be laying the groundwork for him to accept her apology later. “Of course I accept.”
“Good.” Dylan smiled at her. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Mackenzie stood up. “Listen—I’m sorry that it seems like I’m always cutting things short, but...”
“No. No. That’s okay.” Dylan’s chair knocked into the wall when he stood up. “I’m holding you up from work. But before I take off, I really want to show you something outside. It’ll only take a second, I promise. And, trust me. You’re gonna want to see what I have to show you.”
“Okay. But then I really need to get back to work. I have a ton of special orders to fill.” Mackenzie walked through the door that Dylan held open for her. “And let me tell you, there’s a seedy underbelly of sugar addicts in San Diego and they all start to line up for a lunchtime fix.” Mackenzie stopped at the counter and checked on Molita. “Are you doing okay, Moll?”
“Don’t you worry about me, now. I’ve got everything under control.” Molita sprayed glass cleaner on the front of the display case. “You go handle your business.”
“I’ll be right back,” Mackenzie said.
“I wanted to show you my baby.” Dylan held open the bakery door for her. “My girlfriend doesn’t understand old school, but I knew you’d appreciate her.”
Mackenzie stepped onto the sidewalk, but halted in her tracks just outside the door. “Is that what I think it is?”
Dylan smiled triumphantly at her as he walked over to his car. “Didn’t I tell you you’d want to see her?”
Mackenzie couldn’t take her eyes off Dylan’s rare, vintage car. This car could easily sell for one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. “You do know that this is the stuff of legends, right?”
“You know I do,” Dylan said. “And you know exactly what you’re looking at, don’t you?”
“Of course I do. I took Old School 101 with Dad and Jett...which I aced, by the way,” Mackenzie bragged as she walked over to his car. “This sweet girl is a 1963 split-back Chevy Corvette. Super rare because the split window went out of production in 1964.”
“You got it.” Dylan’s smile broadened.
“Basically, the Holy Grail.” Mackenzie ran her hand along the curved hood of the car.
“That’s right.” Dylan nodded his head, his arms crossed loosely in front of him. “See? I knew you’d be excited to see her.”
“You have no idea.” Mackenzie walked around to the back of the car. “Dylan—this’s all original. Jett would die to get his hands on this car. She’s not for sale, is she?”
“Not a chance.” Dylan shook his head as he walked up to stand beside her. “But I really want Jett to restore my Charger.”
Mackenzie found herself smiling at Dylan. “That would mean a lot to Jett, Dylan. It really would.”
“I was thinking about giving the Charger this same silver-flake paint job with flat black accents. What do you think?”
Mackenzie’s phone rang. “Hold that thought.”
“Sure.” Dylan leaned casually against his car.
“Hi, Aggie.” Mackenzie leaned her head down and plugged one ear. “Wait a minute—what happened?” Mackenzie’s face turned pale. “Tell Hope I’m on my way.”
“Everything okay?” Dylan asked.
“No.” Mackenzie headed back to the bakery. “My daughter got hurt at the barn.”
“I hope she’s okay,” Dylan called after her.
“Thanks.” Mackenzie pulled the bakery door open. Inside the bakery now, she stopped and threw up her hands in the air. “Tamara has my car! Molly—did you drive today?”
“My granddaughter dropped me off.” Molita put a cupcake in a box for a customer.
Mackenzie made a quick U-turn and pushed the bakery door back open. “Molly—I have to go get Hope. Hold down the fort, okay?”
“What happened?” Molly asked, concerned.
“She hit her head at the barn.” Mackenzie pushed the door open. “I’ll call you later with an update as soon as I have one!”
Dylan had his blinker on and he was about to ease out onto the street when he saw Mackenzie bolt out of the cupcake shop and run toward his car. He braked and rolled down the passenger window.
Mackenzie bent down so she could see Dylan. “Can you give me a ride? My car is out with the deliveries.”
Dylan reached over, unlocked the door and opened it for Mackenzie. “Hop in.”
* * *
The thirty-minute ride out to the barn was a quiet one. Mackenzie’s entire body was tense, her brow wrinkled with worry; seemingly lost in her own internal dialogue, she only spoke to give him directions. And he didn’t press her for conversation. He imagined that if he were in her shoes, he wouldn’t be in the mood for small talk, either.
“Turn left right here.” Mackenzie pointed to a dirt side road up ahead. “You’ll have to go slow in this car—with all the rain lately, there are potholes galore on the way to the barn. Not many Corvettes brave this road.”
“I can see why not.” Dylan slowed way down as he turned onto the muddy dirt road. He looked at the large sign at the entrance of the road.
“Pegasus Therapeutic Riding—is that where we’re heading?”
“Yes.” Mackenzie unbuckled her seat belt.
Dylan glanced over at Mackenzie. “What’s wrong with your daughter?”
“There’s nothing wrong with Hope. She’s perfect,” Mackenzie snapped. After a second, she added in a tempered tone, “Hope loves horses and she loves helping people. Volunteering here is what she wants to do with her free time.”
“She must take after you.” Dylan drove up onto the grassy berm in order to avoid a large pothole. “I remember you were always busy with a cause...collecting canned goods and clothing for the homeless, volunteering at the animal shelter...you were never satisfied with playing video games and hanging out at the beach like the rest of us...”
Mackenzie’s shoulders stiffened. She had been picked on mercilessly when she was a kid about her causes. “There’s nothing wrong with caring about your community.”
Dylan jerked the wheel to the left to avoid another pothole. He glanced quickly at Mackenzie; her arms were crossed, her jaw was clenched. He’d managed to put her on the defensive in record time. Usually he was pretty good at navigating his way around women.
“I meant it as a compliment,” Dylan clarified. “And Hope sounds like a really good kid.”
“She is.” Mackenzie stared straight ahead. “She’s the best kind of kid.”
“How old did you say she was?”
“I didn’t say.” Mackenzie spotted the weathered brown barn up ahead. “You can pull in right there between the van and the truck...”
As Dylan eased the car to a stop, Mackenzie already had her hand on the door handle. With her free hand, she touched his arm briefly. “Thank you, Dylan. You’ve managed to rescue me twice in one week.”
“Do