She sighs with relief, like I just lifted a weight off her shoulders. “That’s really good to hear, Clay.”
My stomach jolts when she says my name in that pretty little voice—sweet as honey. I still can’t get over that she told the receptionist we were dating. It shouldn’t matter, shouldn’t mean anything, but I can’t stop running it over in my head.
“So,” Savannah lets out a shaky breath, “kind of a weird night, huh?”
I grunt in agreement.
After a brief pause, she asks, “Do you live in town?”
“No, I live on Cherry Mountain.”
She nods, unsurprised. “I’m guessing you’re a lumberjack?”
“That obvious, huh?”
Her lips tug into a sweet smile. “Yep.”
There are plenty of lumberjacks around these parts. Crave County has a thriving timber industry, and there’s a sawmill just outside Cherry Hollow. The work is solitary. Physical. It suits guys like me—broken old men looking for some peace.
“What about you?” I ask Savannah. “You live here?”
Learning more about her feels dangerous—like opening a door I can’t close. But right now, I can’t help myself.
“Yep,” she says. “My apartment is just down the street from where I hit you.” She cuts off, shuddering a little. “I’m so sorry again. My insurance will cover all your bills.”
Savannah’s insurance is the last thing on my mind as I look at her quivering bottom lip.
“You okay?” I ask.
She shoots me a weak smile. “I’ll be fine. I’m not the one who just got hit by a car.” There’s a few beats of silence before she adds, “Thank you, Clay.”
“For what?”
“For not dying.”
I grunt. “Gonna take more than this little toy car to finish me off.”
Savannah lets out a breathy laugh. Then she reaches out a hand, patting the dashboard. “Don’t listen, Henry. You’re the perfect size.”
“Henry?”
She nods. “Henry Honda.”
“You named the car?”
“Of course. He has a middle name, too. Bartholemew.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Anything else?”
“He’s a Sagittarius.”
“Now you’re just making stuff up.”
Savannah chortles as we reach the hardware store. The parking lot is empty except for my pickup, and she parks beside it, my vehicle dwarfing her tiny car.
“Are you sure it’s a truck?” she asks, killing the engine. “It looks more like a tank.”
“I’m a big guy. Need the space.”
