Chapter 10
1 first spotted Dylan at the Barnes & Noble in town.
I loved spending weekends there, watching kids get totally absorbed in my picture books.
Seeing their faces light up made all the late nights and rejection letters worth it.
But that Saturday, there was this college-aged guy camped out in the children’s section.
Ryder used to roll his eyes at my artwork and say stuff like: “Jess, don’t you think you’re getting a little old for crayon drawings?”
So I always felt self-conscious when adults paid too much attention to my work.
But this guy was completely engrossed.
He even bought every single book I’d published.
That’s how he stuck in my memory.
A few months later, he showed up as a summer intern at our small press.
Turns out his name was Dylan Moore-a senior English major from the university across town.
He was writing his thesis on children’s literature translation and volunteered to help adapt my books for international markets.
Dylan totally got my weird storytelling brain.
Like when I’d pitch him ideas about a deaf bunny who discovers a magic egg, or a baby alligator accidentally adopted by a family of ducks.
One day he was proofreading my latest manuscript:
The hungry mama bear searched high and low for the legendary Honey Mountain, asking every animal she met for directions.”
‘Mr. Cat said it was by Milk River, Miss Dog pointed toward Bone Valley, and Old Crow swore she had to cross Pretzel Bridge first… hold up!”
He looked up with this huge grin: “There’s no Honey Mountain at all! They’re all just sending her on a wild goose chase!”
I was twirling my hair around my finger, totally lost in the story:
‘Or maybe it does exist, if she just keeps climbing until she reaches the clouds…”
When his internship ended in August, Dylan asked me out.
When I mentioned Emma, he didn’t even hesitate: “I’m interested in you-your mind, your talent, everything. I don’t care about age gaps or any of that.”
I knew Dylan was headed to Oxford for his Master’s degree.
so from the beginning, I promised myself I wouldn’t get attached to some twenty-three-year-old with his whole life ahead of him.
Then he offered to defer his acceptance and stay in town for me.
That freaked me out even more, so I shot him down hard.
He regrouped and tried again: “Okay, what about just until Christmas break?”
“I’m not asking for marriage and kids. Just three months to see what this could be.”
His voice got softer: “You’d be my first real relationship…”
How could I say no to that?
The truth was, I’d been crushing on him for weeks.
So I agreed. Three months. Long enough to have something real, but short enough that neither of us would get too hurt when it ended.
