He released a rich, hearty laugh, clearly not taking her seriously.
Planting one hand on her hip, she raised both eyebrows. “Did you know motorcycles are twenty-seven percent more dangerous than driving a car?”
He merely shrugged, flashing his boyish grin again.
“Well, ifyouwant to become an accident report, be my guest,” she huffed. “But I’m driving.” Digging inside her purse, she pulled out the key to her 1965 Ford Mustang.
She hid a smug smile as Colt killed his engine the second she popped opened the driver’s door.
“She’s yours?” He didn’t bother hiding his shock as he hopped off his bike, removing his helmet to get a better look.
“My dad and I restored her together.” She tossed her purse in the back seat before sliding onto the silky black upholstery.
“She’s a beaut.” Colt whistled, running his hand along the flawless paint job—a satiny cream color that reminded Penny of a pristine white sand beach.
“Thanks. It took us almost a decade to restore her former glory.”
“So, everything’s original?” Colt popped open the passenger door and climbed inside.
“Pretty much,” she said proudly.
His gaze landed on the state-of-the-art seat belts, and she flushed. “Well, except for those.” Yanking on the shoulder strap, she clicked hers in place before taking a few moments to triple-check her mirrors.
Colt stared at her as though she were an old fuddy-duddy, but she didn’t care. Better safe than sorry.
“What about air conditioning?” he asked, eyeing the dashboard.
“It’s called fresh air.” She leaned across him to manually roll down his window.Big mistake.Her stomach fluttered as she caught a whiff of his body wash—crisp and exhilarating like a cool ocean breeze. She scrambled back to her side of the car as quickly as possible, mentally chastising herself again.
Okay, so she wasn’t completely immune to his outward appeal. But that’s all it was—a pleasant exterior, like quicksand disguised as a scenic beach. If she got too close, disaster would surely strike.
“You can find a radio station, if you want,” she told him, desperate for a distraction.
“What kind of music do you like?”
“Anything. I’m not picky.” She avoided making eye contact as she glanced over her shoulder to back out of the parking space.
But an unexpected movement darted across her peripheral vision and she slammed on the brakes, lurching them forward. “What are you doing?” she snapped, grabbing the back of her neck. “Did you drop something down my shirt?” In a panic, she jammed her hand down her collar, praying she wouldn’t find a centipede again. Or worse—a spider.
“Relax. You had a leaf in your braid.” Colt pinched the offending foliage between his fingers, eyeing her like she’d lost her mind.
“Oh.” She smiled sheepishly before puckering her lips in a defensive pout. “Although, it’s not like you can blame me for expecting the worst. My collar has been the gateway for insects, ice cubes, and itching powder, thanks to you.”
Now it was Colt’s turn to grin sheepishly. “You’re right. And I’m sorry about that.”
Penny blinked. Did Colt just apologize?No…she must be imagining things. Before she could confirm her delusion, Bree burst out of the shop, nearly tripping over the hem of her Renaissance-era gown. “Are you okay? You hit the brakes pretty hard.”
Embarrassed, Penny slouched in her seat, just shy of sinking into the footwell as she offered a feeble flap of her wrist. “We’re fine. Nothing to worry about.”
Relief flickered across Bree’s face as she gathered the sapphire-velvet folds of her dress in one hand, while waving with the other. “Oh, good. You guys have fun!”
“We will!” Colt shouted out the window cheerfully.
Penny forced a smile, biting back a cynical quip as she pulled onto Main Street.
The day would be anythingbutfun.
As if mocking her plight, the speakers crackled and the high-pitched harmony of the Beach Boys’ “Don’t Worry Baby” filled the space between them.
