I smack my forehead. “Apparently, I wasn’t aware of the power of said dick. It’s like a siren calling here, nookie, nookie. Where are you nookie?”
Jonas laughs hard, then shoots me a look. I want to ask him why he wants to take me out, but what if his answer is he asked me because he feels obligated to do something with romantic undertones since we’re going to have sex?
It bothers me that I don’t want to ask.
We arrive at the place in Coyote Bend where the classic car show is held. There a few hundred people strolling around plus a few merchandise and drink vendors hawking their products from booths.
Row after row of cars fill the grounds, the restored beauties basking under the sun. I spot a red 1955 Thunderbird and clutch Jonas’s arm. “Look at that. Isn’t it amazing?”
“It is.”
I glance up to see him looking at me rather than the cars. I tear my gaze away and point. “That black convertible is a 1958 Impala. My grandparents used to own one. My grandfather gave it to my sister.”
“You sound like you wanted it.”
I shake my head as we stroll past the rows of vehicles with their perfect paint jobs and gleaming chrome. “My favorite will always be the Mustang.” I nudge him with my elbow. “And pickup trucks that have a country music song playing on the radio. Listening to that while sitting on the tailgate appreciating small town living is my thing.”
“Those trucks come standard with a cowboy,” he says. “Is that your thing too?”
I feel the weight of his attention on me. “Depends on who the cowboy is.”
“Sitting on the tailgate listening to the radio and appreciating small town living for a night…or longer?”
“I think that kind of appreciating would take a while to accomplish.”
He stops walking and puts his hand on my arm. “Like maybe years?”
I nod.
He stares into my eyes, and his voice low when he asks, “Like maybe forever?”
“That would depend on if the cowboy wanted that.”
“What if the cowboy was me? And he definitely wanted that?”
“If it was you…” I nervously chew the inside of my lip. “That would be okay.”
Right there among those shining cars with their powerful engines, Jonas kisses me.
It’s the kiss of a man saying I’m here. It’s the kind of kiss that offers a promise.
And my skittish heart finds shelter in that promise. The promise that this man doesn’t give a shit about my family wealth or connections. What matters to him is me. That’s what his kiss says.
And I’m going to trust that.
He lifts his head, smiles at me and holds out his hand. I slip mine into it. Outwardly, nothing has changed. But inwardly, everything has. I mentally and emotionally tore down the wall I’d built that had kept me from trusting him.
We spend the next few hours at the car show and once that begins to wrap up, we walk toward Coyote Bend’s main street.
Mature trees line both sides of the street giving us shade as we walk along the sidewalk in front of the businesses. We pass a coffee shop and the delicious scent of freshly brewed coffee wafts from the propped open front door.
Next to it is a bookstore with a window display featuring the newest arrivals. The door creaks as it opens and a customer leaves with a bagful of books.
“This place reminds me a little of Lucky River,” I say.
“They’re a lot alike. It’s a good town,” Jonas says. “Dallas’s wife, Ginger, is from here.”
“I didn’t know that.” I’ve known Dallas and Ginger for a few years, and they still act like newlyweds. We pass a small shop selling sweet treats and I inhale deeply. It reminds me of the cinnamon rolls I love from Dough Corner in Lucky River.
