His response is immediate:Really? I mean, great. Now? I can pick you up in ten. If that works. Does that work?
I laugh out loud. Golden retriever energy, even over text.
Cara:See you in ten.
True to his word,Theo pulls into the driveway exactly ten minutes later. Snow from last night still dusts Grandma’s front yard, and his truck tires leave fresh tracks as he parks.
My stomach flips when he climbs out. This is different from running into him at The Honey Crumb or standing across a crowded auction hall. This is intentional. Just the two of us.
Tan work jacket over a forest green henley. Sandy brown hair curling at his temples. Warm hazel eyes that find mine immediately.
“Hey.” His voice is soft. Careful. His breath fogs in the cold air.
“Hey yourself.”
We stand there for a moment, five feet of winter air between us. His scent drifts toward me—pine and fresh earth and something warm underneath, like sun-warmed cedar. My body responds before I can stop it—pulse quickening, skin flushing, something low in my belly going warm and liquid.
Every single one of them does this to me. I’m so screwed.
“You look good,” he says. Then immediately flushes. “Sorry. Is that weird to say? I’m nervous. I don’t know why I’m nervous. I’ve known you since third grade.”
I laugh, mostly to cover how affected I am. “It’s not weird.”
“Okay. Good.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, rocks back on his heels. “So. I want to take you somewhere. If that’s okay.”
“Theo, you drove all the way here. I’m not going to say no.”
“You could. If you wanted.” His eyes meet mine, earnest and a little worried. “I know I didn’t handle the auction well. Walking out like that without saying anything.”
“None of you handled it well. That’s kind of the theme.”
He winces. “Fair.”
“But Lucas and I talked yesterday. And it helped.” I cross the space between us, closing that five feet to one. His scent intensifies—god, he smells incredible—and I watch his pupils dilate in response to mine. “So. Where are we going?”
His face brightens—literally brightens, like the sun coming out. “You’ll see. Come on.”
He opens the truck door for me, steadying my elbow as I climb in. The cab smells like him—pine and earth and warm cedar. Work gloves on the dashboard. A thermos in the cupholder. A bag of soil in the backseat that’s probably been there for weeks. Seed catalogs stuffed in the door pocket.
“Sorry about the mess,” he says, climbing in the driver’s side. “I basically live in this truck half the time.”
“I noticed.” I pick up a seed catalog from the floor. “Planning your spring lineup?”
“Always.” He starts the engine. “I think about plants constantly. It’s probably a problem. Lucas says I need therapy. I say I need more greenhouse space.”
“I think about fictional characters constantly. We all have our issues.”
He laughs—warm and surprised—and pulls out of the driveway. His laugh is different from Lucas’s. Less restrained. More like he can’t help himself.
We head out of town, past the shops and houses, into the hills where the trees grow thick. Theo drives with easy confidence, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gear shift. The radio plays softly—some country station.
“So,” I say, once we’ve left the main road. “You read my books.”
He nearly swerves off the road.
“Lucas told me,” I add, enjoying his reaction way too much. “He texted this morning. Apparently you both stayed up until two in the morning.”
“I—yeah.” He clears his throat. His cheeks are pink, visible even in profile. “They’re really good, actually. I don’t usually read romance, but...”
