just having a...well, a rough afternoon and I can’t do it.”
The statement hung in the stale air of Ty’s office. For a second, Dylan thought he hadn’t heard his uncle right. “Work...with the kids? Me?”
Uncle Ty ran a hand through his thinning hair. His face was lined, his eyes tired. His usual smile had disappeared, as if he’d lost it and couldn’t remember where it was. “I just can’t. It’s not that I don’t still love all these kids and love my job, but it’s too much right now. How am I supposed to tell these kids how to get their lives on track when mine is so far off the rails? I’m doing all I can to manage the books and clean the bathrooms once in a while.”
“Uncle Ty, I don’t have a degree in child psychology like Aunt Virginia, or a background in social work like you do.”
“No, but you have life experience. And sometimes, that’s what gets through to the tough cases better than any therapy you throw at them.”
Yeah, he had life experience, but it wasn’t the kind he figured these kids should have. Like running away from home at seventeen. Hitchhiking from here to California, funding his way with odd jobs. He’d been picked up by the cops a few times—mainly for loitering and underage drinking—and wound his way around the country ever since, never staying in any one place long. He’d worked fishing charters in Florida, potato farms in Idaho, building projects in Minnesota. He’d feel like a hypocrite if he told the kids that settling down and working hard would make them happy in the end. What did he know about settling down—or finding happiness? “I don’t think I can do this, Uncle Ty. I’m not cut out for it at all.”
“I know you think that,” Ty said, “but you’re more suited than anyone I know. You grew up here—”
“And didn’t exactly turn out to be a Nobel Prize winner.”
“No, but you did turn into a hell of a good man.”
Dylan shook that off. If there was one adjective he’d use for himself, it sure wasn’t good. “Can’t you hire someone? Someone with a degree or something?”
“You know this place has always operated on a shoestring budget, Dylan. Anyone I hired would have to be working for almost nothing.” Ty put a hand on his nephew’s shoulder. “Just give it a try for a little while. For me, please?”
Dylan took another look at his uncle. Ty’s shoulders sagged low, and there was a blankness in his features that Dylan had never seen before, as if Uncle Ty was a fading photo. He’d lost the love of his life, and it had drained every bit of the color out of his world.
“All right. You can count on me, but only for a temporary gig, okay?” Dylan said, with a lot more conviction than he felt. Dylan never had been the kind of guy anyone—especially anyone in this town—had counted on for anything more than a ride to the liquor store on Friday night.
Relief flooded Ty’s face. “Thank you, Dylan. It’s just for a few days. I need to...find myself again, you know? Without Virginia, I’m...half of who I used to be.”
Ty and Virginia had loved each other in that way most people aspired to and never found. Dylan had no such aspirations. He didn’t want to be tied down, to any one place or any one person. He was here now, but he wasn’t planning on staying one second longer than necessary.
Dylan slung his backpack into the corner beside a teetering stack of boxes and the world’s largest supply of colored construction paper. He still wasn’t sure he was cut out for this, but maybe if he gave Ty a day or two off, things would get back to normal. “Just tell me what to do.”
“The little kids are doing okay. Mavis has them making some kind of rainbow thing with beads.” Ty gestured toward the round table, headed by the generously sized, warm and affectionate African American woman. The kids gravitated to her like ants to honey, and from the smile on her face, Mavis loved every minute with them.
“She was awesome when I was a kid,” Dylan said. “I’m glad she’s still volunteering here.”
“Me, too. Though she has fewer hours to spare, since she’s running the inn with Della Barlow.” Ty nodded, then he waved toward the sofas. “Take the teen circle, will you? The rest of them will be here any minute. All you have to do is prompt them to talk, and believe me, they’ll talk your ear off. Remind them to keep it positive.”
“Uncle Ty—”
Ty put a hand on Dylan’s arm, cutting off his protest. “You’ve walked the walk and talked the talk and broken the same rules these kids have. But then you turned yourself around, got a great job with that company up in Maine... I can’t think of a better person than you to connect with them.”
His uncle had a point. If there was one thing Dylan had succeeded at in life, it was being a rebellious teenager. He’d broken pretty much every rule his parents had set forth, and quite a few put in place by the state of North Carolina. If there was a way to get away with doing the wrong thing, Dylan knew it. These kids, sprawled across the sofas like human afghans, weren’t going to be able to get anything past him. And whether they knew it or not, they shared some common ground with him.
The door to the center opened and a leggy brunette woman carrying a briefcase strode in, followed by a singing four-year-old and a sullen teenage boy who looked like he’d rather disappear inside his gray hoodie than be here. The smaller kid peeled off and beelined for Mavis’s table, while the teenager propped himself against the wall closest to the door. But Dylan’s gaze remained on the brunette.
Stunning. That was the only word that came to mind.
She had long brown hair that tumbled around her shoulders. Her eyes were masked by sunglasses, but they couldn’t hide a face that had that kind of delicate bone structure that made him think of Aunt Virginia’s porcelain teacups. The woman was wearing a dark navy skirt, a white button-down blouse with the cuffs turned back and a bright red beaded necklace swinging down to her waist. Then there were the heels—tall, spiky, dark blue shoes that offset incredible legs and made something deep inside Dylan go hot.
“Ty, sorry I’m late.” She strode forward, passing Dylan as if he didn’t even exist. “I got out of work late and then had to track down Cody, who, as usual, wasn’t where he was supposed to be.” She blew a lock of hair off her face. “I swear, that kid is going to be the death of me.”
Uncle Ty put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s fine, Abby, really. Cody will settle in soon and Jacob is already up to his elbows in glue.”
She glanced over at the table, where Jacob—the youngest one, Dylan assumed—had already taken a seat and was sprinkling beads across bright blue construction paper. Mavis sent up a little wave, signaling I’ve got this, honey.
“Okay.” Abby let out a long sigh. “If you don’t mind, I have a proposal I need to work on. Can I...” She waved toward the office and gave Ty a smile.
For some weird reason, that smile—directed toward his uncle—sent a little flicker of jealousy through Dylan.
“Of course. Use my office. But first, I want you to meet my nephew, Dylan.” Ty turned to Dylan and gestured between the two of them. “Dylan Millwright, meet Abigail Cooper, but everyone calls her Abby. Abby, my nephew. He’s going to be helping out with the teen program.”
For the first time in his life, Dylan wished he was the kind of guy who wore a suit and tie. His battered jeans, faded concert T-shirt and black leather boots didn’t exactly match the polished, pressed woman beside him. “Nice to meet you,” he said, extending his hand.
She gave him a surprisingly firm handshake, considering how delicate she seemed at first blush. She was all business, not a spark of interest in her eyes. “You, too.”
He was about to say something witty back, but before he could come up with a handful of words more charming than uh, you’re beautiful, she was picking up the briefcase and heading for Ty’s office. A second later, the glass door closed and Abby settled herself