But tonight is about my girl.
I open the passenger door of my truck and help Tilly up into the seat. I can tell that she’s still a little shaky from the encounter with Gary, and the protective fury in my chest burns hotter.
I round the truck and climb into the driver’s seat, cranking the engine. The heater kicks on immediately, filling the cab with warmth.
“You okay?” I ask, glancing over at her.
She nods, but her hands are clasped tightly in her lap.
“I’m fine. I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”
“Don’t apologize for him.” I pull away from the curb, heading toward the restaurant. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I know. I just...” She sighs, leaning her head back against the seat. “I hate that he ruined the beginning of our date. I was actually feeling pretty good about myself in this dress, and then he showed up and made me feel like garbage.”
I reach over and take her hand, pulling it onto my thigh.
“You look incredible. Don’t let some asshole with a comb-over take that away from you.”
Tilly laughs.
“A comb-over is being generous. I’m pretty sure that’s a full toupee.”
“Even worse.”
She’s quiet for a moment, looking out the window at the town passing by. The tension is still there in her shoulders, the set of her jaw. I want it gone.
“Tell me something,” I say.
She glances over. “Like what?”
“Like how you ended up running a perfume store in Iron Creek, Montana.”
She tilts her head, studying me like she’s trying to figure out if I’m really interested or just making conversation. I keep my eyes on the road, but I can feel her gaze on the side of my face.
“It’s not that interesting a story,” she says.
“Let me be the judge of that.”
She’s quiet for a beat. I take a turn onto the main road, the headlights cutting through the dark, and wait her out.
“I have a degree in organic chemistry,” she finally says. “From Yale.”
I glance over at her. “Yale, huh? What does someone with a chemistry degree from Yale do in a town like this?”
“Make soap, apparently.” She says it lightly, self-deprecating, but I don’t take the bait.
“What were you supposed to do? Before the soap?”
She shifts in her seat, tucking one leg underneath her.
“Pharmaceutical research. Work for a big company, develop expensive drugs, make my parents proud.” She shrugs. “The usual.”
“Were you good at it?”
“Yeah. I was.” She picks at a thread on her dress. “But I hated it.”
I adjust my grip on the steering wheel. “What did you hate about it?”
