Chapter 117
Chapter 117:
Dallas looked at her. His heart hammered against his ribs — a frantic, unsteady rhythm. He wanted to say it back. He wanted to say it loudly, without reservation. But the fear held his tongue: the fear that she was only grateful, only vulnerable, and that the words would mean something different in the morning.
Instead, he tightened his arm around her shoulders and drew her closer.
They arrived at their new home on the cliffside. Dallas carried her from the car to the living room sofa, the city lights twinkling in the distance through the glass walls. He wrapped her in a cashmere throw and stepped back.
“Stay. I’ll be back,” he said.
Twenty minutes later, he returned carrying three large plastic bags from CVS. He set them on the coffee table and emptied the contents.
It was a mountain of supplies — he had clearly swept the entire aisle into his cart. Every brand of tampon and pad available. Boxes of chocolate. A heating pad. Midol. Advil.
He set up the heating pad with focused efficiency, plugging it in and tucking it behind her back. Then he went to the kitchen and returned with a mug of hot cocoa.
Eliza stared at the pile. “You bought the whole store p>
“I wasn’t sure what you needed,” he said, unwrapping a chocolate bar with grave concentration. “I wanted to be prepared for any contingency p>
The electronic lock on the front door beeped, followed by the sound of the heavy door swinging open.
Dallas looked up, frowning.
P𝗗𝗙𝘴 o𝗻
Azalea burst in. “Daddy! I heard you left the office in a panic — oh.” She stopped, taking in Eliza on the sofa and the mountain of feminine hygiene products arranged across the coffee table.
A grin spread slowly across her face.
“Wow,” Azalea said, picking up a box. “He really did it. Brute force logistics p>
Dallas glared at her. “Azalea. Out p>
“He called me last month asking for a full tactical breakdown on feminine care,” Azalea whispered loudly to Eliza. “I told him every woman is different and he should just ask. He said asking was inefficient and demanded a data-driven solution. I guess this is it p>
“A data-driven solution?” Eliza looked at Dallas.
He grabbed a throw pillow and hurled it at Azalea. “Go home p>
Azalea dodged, already laughing. “You two are adorable! Bye!” She pulled the door shut behind her with a cheerful slam.
Silence settled back over the room. Dallas looked embarrassed, the tips of his ears faintly red.
“Logistics,” he muttered, avoiding her eyes.
A wave of warmth moved through Eliza that had nothing to do with the heating pad. She had confessed her love on a public street — a raw, terrifying act of vulnerability. And this man, this titan of industry, had responded not with words, but with an overwhelming, practical, almost absurd display of care. It was so much, so fast. The old part of her — the part trained by the Hydes to see every kindness as a transaction — scrambled to categorize it, to make it safe.
“You are such a good man, Dallas,” she said, her voice softer than she intended.
Dallas winced slightly. Her praise landed like an assessment, not an endearment.