I trailed off. Coward.
“A woman you actually what?” she asked.
Her voice was softer now, but there was an edge to it. Like she wasn’t sure if she should believe me.
I scrubbed a hand over my face. The truck cab felt too small, too hot, even with the snow piling up outside.
“A woman I’m interested in, okay? That’s why I’ve been weird. Not because I don’t like you. Because I like you too much.”
Silence.
I risked a look at her. She was staring at me with wide eyes, her lips slightly parted. For a second, I thought maybe I’d broken through. Maybe this was the moment everything changed.
Then her expression shuttered.
“Right.” She let out a short laugh that didn’t sound amused. “And you’re telling me this now. While we’re stuck in a truck together. In a snowstorm. With nowhere to go.”
The words hit me like a punch to the gut. “That’s not?—”
“Look, I get it.” She held up a hand, cutting me off. “We’re trapped here for an hour. Might as well pass the time, right? I’m convenient.”
“Convenient?” I couldn’t keep the disbelief out of my voice. “Gabby, you think I?—”
“You guys are from out of town. You’re new, you’re exciting, and every single woman in Wildwood Valley has probably thrown herself at you since you got here.” Her voice was steady, but I could hear the hurt underneath. “So forgive me if I’m a little skeptical that the guy who couldn’t look at me for a week suddenly decided I’m interesting the one time we’re stuck alone together.”
She thought this was about proximity. About boredom. About being the only option.
She had no idea.
“I don’t even like sweet tea.”
The words came out before I could stop them. Gabby blinked, thrown off by the subject change.
“What?”
“Sweet tea.” I shifted to face her fully, my knee bumping the center console. “I hate it. It’s too sweet, it’s got a weird aftertaste, and I’d rather drink water. But you always bring it to our table, and you always smile when you pour it, so I’ve been drinking that sugary garbage for six days because it meant you’d come by more often.”
Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
“I switched shifts with Hux twice,” I continued, because apparently the floodgates were open now and I couldn’t stop. “He owed me, but I didn’t cash in for anything important. I cashed in so I’d be off duty when you were working. So I could come in and sit in your section and not talk to you like a fucking wimp.”
“Mason—”
“I asked Elsa about you.” The words kept coming, like a dam had burst. “Three weeks ago. Asked if you were single, if you were seeing anyone. She told me to man up and talk to you. I told myself I would, and then you smiled at me and I forgot how words worked.”
The truck was silent except for the wind howling outside and the soft whir of the heater. Gabby was staring at me like I’d grown a second head.
“You asked Elsa about me?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
“I’ve been coming to that roadhouse every chance I get.” I let out a breath, the confession leaving me winded. “Not for the wings. Not for the beer I can’t drink on duty. Not even for the company, because the guys give me shit constantly. I come because you’re there. And every time, I tell myself I’m finally going to say something, and every time, I choke.”
I met her eyes.
“This isn’t about being stuck in a truck, Gabby. This isn’t about convenience. If anything, being stuck here is the only reason I finally had the balls to tell you, because I knew I couldn’t run away.”
She was quiet for a long moment. The snow was piling up on the windshield now, cocooning us in white. The windows had fogged completely, turning the cab into a warm, private world.
“You really hate sweet tea?” she finally asked.
