“You will?” I ask hesitantly.
“Yeah.” It looks like her arms are crossed again, but I still can’t make out her expression. “You can leave your truck in my driveway and pick it up in the morning.”
I gulp. “Thank you, Claire.”
Deputy Godchaux looks back and forth between us a couple of times before he nods. “All right, then. I’ll let you take it from here, sweetheart. If you’re sure?”
“You heard the man. He’s too down on his luck to give me any trouble,” Claire says tauntingly. “Plus, I’m single now, and he sounds like quite the catch.”
I stifle a smile, and the deputy chuckles one more time. “Y’all be careful. And you better show this young lady some gratitude, you hear?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll be sure to repay her for her trouble,” I reply, unable to hide my grin now.
He tips his head and goes back to his patrol car, leaving us alone in the dark.
“Thank you for that. I owe you one,” I volunteer as she walks over. I open the door for her, and she smirks at me as she slides into the driver’s seat.
“I’ll add it to your tab, Dr. Green Flag.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
claire
Rowan rubshis eyes again as he climbs into the passenger seat of my Bronco. “I think you’re gonna want to take a left?—”
“I know where Coach Reed’s place is,” I cut him off to say. “I may not have grown up in Camellia, but I’ve lived here long enough.”
“Right,” he replies and sighs wearily. He’s quiet for a minute, allowing the tension to grow until I reach out to raise the volume on the nasally country song playing on the radio.
Rowan clears his throat. “This isn’t exactly what I expected, but I should have guessed you were a restored-vehicle kind of girl.”
“I can’t believe you took me for agirlat all,” I retort sarcastically.
“Sorry. I didn’t take you as the kind ofladywho would drive an old, jacked-up Bronco, but it suits you,” he corrects himself, and the fact that he made it a point to call me a “lady” in lieu of a “woman” makes the corner of my mouth turn up.
“Yeah, well, I didn’t peg you as the type to buck authority,” I tell him.
He scrunches up his nose, looking sheepish. “I’m not. But it’s been a long day. And like I said before, I haven’t really been feeling like myself lately.”
“So what’s your excuse for driving a truck that’s at least a decade old?” I ask after a while.
He shrugs. “I like my truck. It’s reliable, and it gets me where I need to go. Why would I trade it in if it still serves its purpose?”
“Because you’re a doctor and you can afford something nicer?”
“Seems like a waste when this one isn’t even all that old. Toyotas are usually good for over three-hundred-thousand miles, you know,” he says, frowning.
“Wouldn’t you rather a newer model with more creature comforts?”
“Comfort is a gateway drug. Too much of it makes us lazy and entitled,” he declares before he apparently thinks better of it and softens his tone. “Wouldn’t you rather something new?”
“I added a few modern conveniences while I still had access to my ex’s bank account,” I explain, gesturing to the control panel.
“Didn’t they start making Broncos again?”
“They did,” I say, lifting a shoulder. “But this one was made for me.”
“I can see that.” He hums and runs a hand over the dashboard, and I could swear he was touching me instead.
