He blows out an exasperated breath. “You need to call the rental company about this thing. It’s not safe to drive too far.”
The fabric of his black hoodie stretches as he holds the jug in place. The hemline pulls up just enough for me to catch a glimpse of his skin above his jeans. It’s innocent, a quick flash of flesh, but it’s enough to make my brain tizzy.
“So how far istoo far?” I ask, wondering if I can make it to the hotel. “Can I drive it out of here without blowing it up?”
He looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “Are you going to accuse me of getting too personal if I ask how far you have to go?”
I lean against the car and watch him.
He’s kind—he’s helping me. But he’s taciturn all the same. It seems like he cares for my safety but also like he couldn’t care less if I drove off a cliff.
There’s an invisible wall between us. He nailed that into place as soon as I got out of the car. Still, he fills the space around him with a certain warmth that makes me wonder if he’s as disconnected as he seems.
One thing is sure—I’m not scared of him. My creep radar is as quiet as a church mouse. And I'm relatively relaxed for the first time since I got to the airport this morning.
“If I tell you how far I have to go, you’re not going to stalk me, are you?” I ask, hoping to get a grin out of him.
I don’t.
“No,” he says.
“That’s a shame.”
A streak of surprise flashes through his eyes, making me laugh.
“I’m kidding. Don’t panic,” I say half truthfully. “I’m going to Peachwood Falls. That’s close to here, right?”
“How the hell did you get out here if you’re going to Peachwood Falls?”
“Chris.”
He snaps the cap back on the jug and heads back to his truck. “Who’s Chris?”
The hint of irritation in his voice is fascinating. I could tell him who Chris is—the name I gave the navigation system after I chose the sexy Australian accent to give me directions. But admitting that feels slightly like defeat.
“Oh, Chris is a guy helping me get to Peachwood Falls,” I say. “He told me to turn on this road to save ten minutes, which was obviously bad advice.”
“Chris was setting you up for failure because this way isn’t gonna save you ten minutes. It’s probably gonna cost you fifteen—twenty if the road isn’t washed out.”
In his tone, there’s that warmth again, a thread of what might be concern. It’s curious and slightly adorable—in a moody kind of way.
I smile. “All men set me up for failure. That’s why I’m thirty years old, alone, and childless.”
He tosses the empty jug into the back of his truck and then leans against the tailgate. Surprisingly, he seems vaguely interested, so I keep talking.
“From what I’ve read, it’s subconsciously intentional on my part,” I say, wiping a strand of hair out of my face. “I choose to have relationships that I know won’t work out because it’s my comfort zone—which is odd because there’s nothing comfortable about it.”
I tug on the sides of my shorts—shorts that end at a spot my grandmother would’ve said is highly inappropriate for public consumption. Shorts that Grandma would’ve also said are inappropriate for this time of year.Not the proper attire for Indiana in the fall.
He keeps his gaze glued to my face as if he’s oblivious to the length of my bottoms.
“Come to think of it,” I say, “you stopping to help me is the most romantic thing anyone has done for me in a long time.”
“Don’t get the wrong impression.” He shoves off the truck as if he can’t possibly stand still a moment longer. “There’s an easy solution to your problem, you know.”
“My problem?”
He stops just out of reach. The green in his eyes hosts a spattering of gold flecks as he gazes down, deciding what to say.
