“I don’t need to. You need something? I’ll find a way to make it happen. Always.” He says it with such conviction it’s almost staggering. Itisstaggering, and so damn confusing.
There was a time in my life when I would have believed him, but that was before he crushed the thought that maybe not everyone who comes into contact with me would leave. My dad left me before I even graced this side of the earth, my mom left when I was a toddler, she couldn’t stay away from the bottle, and eventually that led to harder substances. I’ve only ever had Weston and my grandpa, until I didn’t. He built my trust through years of friendship just to bulldoze it down with a half-hearted goodbye.
Averting my eyes, I grab my coffee cup and fiddle with it in my hands. “As you know, my grandpa's truck broke down, and the mechanic checked it out first thing this morning, but it doesn’t look good. Do you guys by chance have an extra vehicle I could borrow, or could you drive me into town so I can pick up a rental car?”
“How long would you need it for?” he asks.
“Realistically, the rest of my time here. I know it’s a lot to ask, but I can totally rent one.” We may have history, but he still is a client, and I need to tread carefully here.
He shrugs like what I'm asking is no big deal. “You can drive mine and I’ll drive the old ranch truck.”
His truck must cost more than I make a year and the thought of driving it around is slightly intimidating, especially if something happened. “That’s really not necessary. I can drive the farm truck or your old truck from high school. Does it have tags? I can pay to register it if it’s a problem.”
“I got rid of that truck a long time ago.” He stops, as if lost in thought, and I wonder if he’s thinking about all the memories he and I created in that truck. I know I am. It shocks me how sad I feel knowing it’s gone. He snaps out of it. “The farm truck is all up to date, just old and dusty. Which is why I'll drive it.” He looks at me like what I'm suggesting is laughable. Considering the hunk of junk cabin I’m staying in, a dusty truck might just be a step up.
“Driving your truck is way too big of an imposition, and I'm pretty sure my boss would lose his shit if he even knew I was asking this,” I say, nervously playing with my engagement ring.
“Then don’t tell him,” he replies, looking down at the ring with what looks to be a scowl and then back at me like it’s the obvious choice.
“Or, you could just let me drive the old truck,” I counter.
“It’s a manual.” He leans back and quirks an eyebrow up at me.
Pursing my lips together, I groan internally. “That’s not a problem.”
“Yeah, I'm going to go ahead and call bullshit. When was the last time you drove a stick?” he asks with a smirk. Now he just looks downright amused, and I hate it.
“You should remember, you were there.”
“You last drove a stick when you were in high school and you expect me to believe that you still can?” He crosses his arms, and I decide to lie through my teeth.
“It can’t be that hard, you do it.” I quirk a brow up and match his stance, crossing my arms.
He has the audacity to laugh at my insult. “Okay.” He digs in his drawer and grabs the keys before tossing them to me. “Prove it.”
Well shit.
Chapter 9
Willow
We get in the truck, and he was not wrong, it’s dusty and smells of cows and smelly men. Worse than that, I truly remember next to nothing about driving a stick. I know there are three pedals instead of two: the clutch, the gas pedal, and the brake. Really, it can’t be that hard. Weston does it.
“Alright, show me what you got.” He slaps his hands down on his lap excitedly.
Turning the key in the ignition, the old cab begins vibrating underneath us as the engine roars to life.
“Okay,” I stall, looking around the dash of the truck as I try to figure out what I am looking at, besides the layer of dust. Unlike modern cars, most of the dash is shiny red metal. The gauges look like they are straight out of an antique shop. The spindly orange needle bounces with the rumble of the truck. “Just let me get acquainted with the truck.”
“Take all the time you need, I’ve got all day.” His tone inches on cocky; he’s enjoying this…thoroughly. He makes a show of stretching his legs out and folding his arms behind his head.
Well, I certainly don’t. I already feel like I am running behind, and I have a video meeting with my boss tonight to go over the progress of the project, and I can only imagine how well that’s going to go.
Hey, Willow, it looks like you’re already behind. Careto explain?
Ugh, I can hear it already.
So far, I have yet to figure out the contractor; I do have it narrowed down between two. We do have a basic idea of what he wants, but we haven’t dug deep into his vision for the cabins. I should probably schedule time with him to walk through them together so we're on the same page. I’ve made some progress on the bookkeeping end, though, and that was the part that I was least looking forward to. So, that’s a small win. Everything else, still lost. Confused as hell when it comes to Weston, too. Trying to be friends with someone you thought you were going to spend your life with turns out to be just as difficult as I thought it would be. Realizing that I am stalling, I press my feet down on the clutch and the brake, and I shift the car into reverse. I slowly take my foot off the brake and move it to the gas and slowly let off the clutch. To my surprise, and Weston’s, judging by the way he sits straight up, we begin to reverse. “Ha! Told you I could do it.”
