I study her for a beat.
“That’s a thirty-minute walk,” I say, keeping it casual. Or, trying to. “Just saying, it’s a lot to carry.”
I try not to sound condescending, but my tone’s tighter than it should be. She makes me nervous, throws off my rhythm. I didn’t want to stop. Didn’t want to talk. But something about her pulls me in.
“I’m managing,” she insists, shifting the bags again. But I catch the slight wince, the way her fingers adjust like she’s trying not to show the strain.
I sigh.
“Sure looks like it.”
I pull the truck to a full stop, throw it into park, and step out. Not dramatic. Just decided. I hold out a hand.
“Come on. Give me the bags.”
Stormy hesitates, her grip tightening.
“Ford …”
“I’ve got work to get back to,” I say, voice low, even. Not annoyed, just done arguing.
“I’m not here to win a standoff, Stormy. Just let me help.”
I hold out a hand. My voice isn’t harsh, just firm. I’m offering the simplest solution to an obvious problem. She stares up at me, lips pressed together in defiance, but I don’t waver. For a moment, I catch that flicker of inner turmoil on her face, a silent battle between wanting to stand on her own and knowing she’s struggling. She hesitates, looks up the road at the journey ahead, it’s obvious her pride is warring with exhaustion, andfinally, with a breath that sounds pulled from deep within, she hands them over.
“Fine,” she says, brushing past me toward the passenger seat. “But I didn’t need help. I just let you help.”
I toss the bags into the back, trying to ignore the way my mouth starts to tilt at the edge.
“Whatever story you need to tell yourself, Sunshine.”
Stormy stops dead at the passenger door, spotting Buddy sitting there, tongue lolling happily at the sight of her. I nod toward the back seat.
“Buddy’s got the front. You’ll have to take the back … sorry.”
She blinks, then lets out a small, amused breath.
“Oh.”
And instead of protesting, she smiles and climbs into the back. I slide in behind the wheel and watch Stormy reaching through the seats to fuss over Buddy, who unsurprisingly loves the attention. Traitor.
I pull back onto the road, and as I watch her through the rearview mirror, that damn pull creeps back again, the one I keep fighting off. She’s attractive. That much is undeniable, whether I want to acknowledge it or not. And that British accent does all kinds of things to my stomach and … other places. It’s far too tempting.
I grit my teeth, forcing my focus back on the road.
No. She’s not getting under my skin. Not like that.
9
Stormy
Nestled in the back of Ford’s black truck, I allow myself to soak in the details this time. It’s old, though I couldn't say what make, having no real knowledge of cars or trucks. But despite its years, it seems to be well looked after. Someone, likely Ford himself, has lovingly taken care of it.
Inside, the tan seats are worn but inviting, the upholstery carrying the scent of man—smoky and rich, edged with amber and a lingering sweetness, like rum or whiskey. A baseball cap, softened by time and use, is carelessly tossed onto the dashboard. And from the rearview mirror, a black cord suspends a pendant shaped like an animal skull. It sways gently with the rhythm of the truck’s motion, like a silent metronome, ticking off the quiet seconds.
Buddy leans out the open window, ears flapping in the wind, his chocolate-brown fur ruffled by the breeze. The same gust tears into the back, lifting my hair and whipping strands against my face, forcing me to push them away from my lips.
Ford’s grip is tight on the wheel; his gaze locked on the road ahead. From this angle, I can see the muscles in his jaw flexing. I watch him for a moment, my gaze lingering on the firm, muscular lines of his shoulder. As his jaw flexes, the muscles in his neck ripple subtly. His hair, curling slightly at the ends, is tousled, messy in that effortless way, as if his fingers are constantly threading through it. A sudden urge to run my own fingers through those unruly strands, tugging at their softness, courses through me. But just as quickly as the thought arrives, I push it away.
