"You're only here temporarily," he says, more to himself than to me. "Until the car's fixed."
"Maybe. Maybe not." I turn my hand over to link our fingers. "I inherited a cabin, remember? I could stick around. See if Crimson Hollow grows on me."
Something like hope flickers in his eyes. "And has it? Started to grow on you?"
"Parts of it," I admit, squeezing his hand. "Definitely parts of it."
Paolo appears with the check, breaking the moment. Diesel insists on paying, waving away my protests with a firm shake of his head.
"My invitation, my treat," he says in a tone that brooks no argument.
Outside, the night has grown colder, stars glittering overhead in a clear sky. Our breath forms clouds in the frosty air as we walk toward The Mountain Lodge. Diesel's hand finds mine again, our fingers intertwining naturally.
"I had a good time tonight," I say, breaking the comfortable silence.
"Me too." He glances at me, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Better than I expected."
"Such high praise," I laugh. "Be careful, or I might think you actually like me."
He stops walking, turning to face me. His expression is serious, intense in a way that makes my breath catch. "I do like you, Sandra. More than I probably should."
Before I can respond, he reaches up, brushing a strand of hair from my face. His touch lingers, fingers tracing the curve of my cheek. I lean into his hand, unable to help myself.
"Diesel," I whisper, not sure what I'm asking for.
He steps closer, close enough that I can feel the heat of his body in the cold night air. His gaze drops to my lips again, and this time, there's no mistaking his intention. My heart pounds so loudly I'm sure he can hear it.
He leans in, and I tilt my face up to meet him, anticipation coiling low in my belly.
A car horn blares as it passes, startling us both. Diesel steps back, the moment shattered. Frustration flashes across his face before he schools his expression.
"We should get you back to the lodge," he says, voice rough. "It's getting late."
I nod, disappointment a physical ache in my chest. "Yeah, okay."
We resume walking, his hand still holding mine, but the easy atmosphere from dinner has shifted. Tension crackles between us, unresolved and electric.
At the entrance to The Mountain Lodge, we pause again. Light spills from the windows, illuminating Diesel's face as he looks down at me.
"Thanks for dinner," I say, reluctant to let the night end.
"My pleasure." His thumb traces circles on my palm, sending shivers up my arm. "I'll see you tomorrow? At the garage?"
"Definitely." I gather my courage and rise on tiptoes to press a quick kiss to his cheek. "Goodnight, Diesel."
His breath catches, and for a moment, I think he might pull me back for a real kiss. Instead, he squeezes my hand once more before releasing it.
"Goodnight, Sandra," he says softly.
I watch him walk away, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the starlit sky. Tonight didn't end how I hoped, but the almost-kiss lingers in my mind, a promise of what might come. Tomorrow is another day. Another chance.
And suddenly, I'm very glad my car broke down in Crimson Hollow.
CHAPTER FIVE
DIESEL
The cylinder head for Sandra's Mustang sits on my workbench, disassembled into dozens of parts. I've been at it since dawn, taking apart, cleaning, and assessing each component. The familiar, methodical process usually clears my mind, but today my thoughts keep drifting to warm brown eyes and that almost kiss under the stars.
