I don’t miss the quick glance he shoots at my chest, followed by the way his throat bobs, like he’s suddenly remembering yesterday.
“Oh, perfect,” I reply, trying not to overthink it. “I just ... I should probably change,” I say, motioning to my flour-dusted clothes.
I slip upstairs, leaving them behind and quickly swapping my clothes for something clean. But as I pull my shirt over my head, my stomach flutters, a thrill sparking at the thought of spending time with him.
I can’t deny it. That ride home in the rain yesterday. It made me feel something.
And I don’t hate it.
20
Ford
Stormy follows me to the truck, slipping into the back seat without hesitation when she spots Buddy already settled in the front. She gives him a quick fuss, scratching behind his ears.
"Hi, handsome," she murmurs before buckling herself in.
A sharp pang of jealousy punches through me. Where the hell did that come from? How am I jealous … of a dog?
I’ve been clear with her; Buddy’s seat is Buddy’s seat. But still, I find myself wishing she were sitting next to me instead.
I barely slept last night. My mind was too busy replaying every detail—the way she fit in my grip when I lifted her onto Raven, the feel of her soft curves beneath my hands, the warmth of her body pressed against mine. The scent of vanilla and coconut lingering in her hair, carried by the wind as we rode through the rain. It felt intimate. More than it should have. More than I know I can afford for it to be. I’ve never let anyone ride with me on Raven before, but when I saw her clutching those books, desperate to keep them dry, I knew I had to help.
I could feel her relaxing against me with every passing moment, like she trusted me and Raven. That feeling, knowing she trusted us, it settled something deep in my chest. I liked it, being someone that made her feel safe. Maybe a little too much. I had to shift back in my seat, distance myself, because the press of her against me was stirring up feelings I wasn’t ready for. Feelings I felt not only in my chest, but also in my erection pressed against her back.
And then, I saw it. The way the rain had turned her dress a little too transparent.
Heat shot through me, pooling low, tightening every muscle in my body.
The image burned itself into my brain, remaining through the night, following me into the morning as I worked on the truck, distracting me more than I’d like to admit.
I start the truck, and it rumbles to life, the familiar hum of the engine filling the space between us. Stormy settles into her seat, resting back, her movements quiet as Buddy shifts beside me, settling back into his.
I love the way she dotes on my dog. Like when she’s out in the garden, letting him nuzzle into her lap like he belongs there. Clara never did that. She barely tolerated Buddy. Said he was messy and needy.
She left when things got hard. When I needed her most and didn’t know how to ask for it. I know I pushed her away with the late nights, the work, not enough time, but still. She walked. And I haven’t let anyone close since.
But the truth is, I haven’t even tried. I’ve kept things surface level. Dismissed the idea before it could take root. Told myself it wasn’t worth the risk. That no one would stick around once things got messy.
So this thing here with Stormy, this thing sat in my chest … I don’t know what to do with it.
She seems different. There’s something in her quiet stubbornness, the way she insists on doing things herself but still has that soft charm abouther. The fact that she won’t just give up and leave. She’s staying, she’s trying, she’s fighting.
And sure, I’ve only just met her. But sometimes it doesn’t take long to spot the kind of person who moves differently through the world.
For a second, I wonder if maybe Stormy’s not like Clara. If maybe I’ve been wrong to keep everyone at arm’s length. If maybe liking her wouldn’t be the worst thing.
I grip the wheel, pulling out onto the road. The truck is quiet. And I’m not sure I like it. The silence between us isn’t just silence or awkwardness. It’s … something else.
I exhale, drumming my fingers against the wheel before I find myself speaking.
“You good?”
Stormy’s head lifts, her lips curving into a small smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
She’s lying.
