Max whines in the back seat, tail wagging, tongue panting. Drool drips over the center console as he stares at me. I swear if dogs could smile, this guy would be in a full-fledged grin.
Ugh.
Noah opens the back door and tosses my backpack in on the floorboard.
“Don’t even think about it,” I snarl at Max as he shifts to sniff the air around my bag. It probably smells like blueberry vape. The little traitor.
As Noah climbs in, Max sits in his seat, and I shake my head. He’s like a damn kid, and I pull on my bottom lip, tugging back a soft smile.
It’s not long before Noah pulls out of the parking garage and navigates to the main road.
Pinebrook Hospital sits on the edge of town and to get to the park the quickest route is through town.
“Where to?” Noah asks.
“My car.”
“Dr. Young said it wasn’t a good idea to drive for a couple of days. Let me take you home. I’ve already let the rangers know your car is fine where it is until you can get back to it. It won’t be towed or anything if that’s what you’re worried about.”
I glance sidelong at him, my focus dipping to the thick columns of muscle in his neck. I can only imagine what the rest of his body looks like, if the straining muscles there are any indication. Most likely honed by years of sports and training.
Stupid—looking at him like this.
An upstanding ranger. A do-gooder willing to take a stranger to her car. This man’s a golden boy—probably never had a day of trouble in his life. I bet he makes it his mission to snuff out problematic people like me.
“Just take me to my car.” I wince. “Please.”
Noah shifts, the leather seat creaking. “How much did that pain you? To say please.”
I glare at him, and he cracks a lopsided smile.
“To your car it is then. Although I do have to state for the record I think it’s a bad idea. Should follow the doc’s recommendations.”
I raise my eyebrows. “How did I figure you’d say something like that. Must be all that law abiding compulsion.”
Noah grips the wheel one-handed, his knuckles tightening. He shoots a look at me, then toward the road. “Have something against law enforcement?”
“I guess you could say that.”
“Huh,” he huffs, but asks nothing further, and I occupy myself by staring out the window.
Familiar buildings and businesses stream by, and as we pass the downtown historic motel, I realize I should stop at the diner. I was off yesterday … but unfortunately I was due in today.
I point up ahead. “Mind if we stop? I should check in with my boss.”
Noah studies the diner signage and then slows, pulling into the street parking out front.
“You work here?” he asks, putting the truck into park.
“Yep. I’ll just be a sec.” I haul out the door and jog up to the single glass door. It chimes when I enter.
The rich scent of freshly brewed coffee, the kind that’s been percolating in our commercial-sized pots since five in the morning, hits me. The smoky, savory aroma of sizzling bacon and sausage mingles with the sweetness of griddle pancakes and waffles, hinting at the blueberry and banana specials Mitch often cooks.
My stomach growls.
The booths are upholstered in a cherry-red leather and set against sun-faded windows that look out onto Pinebrook’s historic main street. There’s a vintage jukebox that sits past the narrow rows of booths at the end of the diner. It’s the kind where you can flip through song titles and pick a classic for a quarter. It’s one of my favorite things about this place—one of the reasons whythisis my favorite place I’ve worked in my travels.
Another is the robust mix of visitors headed to Yosemite and local regulars who congregate here every morning. I think in a way it reminds me of Ruin and the small coffee shop there. The older folks in my hometown spend their mornings sipping drip coffee and gossiping over the latest town news.
