1
DASH
Driving slowly on my way to work, I find that even the bounciest funk music isn't cheering me up.
Which is odd, to be honest. I'm normally an upbeat person. Almost always in a good mood. Plus, I dearly love my new job.
Maybe part of it is knowing that we'll be working in the rain for the second day in a row today. Although my brothers and I are sensible enough not to use power tools when it's pouring, there are always trails to be marked, trees to be studied and tagged, and a multitude of tasks that just aren't that pleasant if you're walking around soaked to the bone.
Rain aside, though, I've always wanted to get back to the forest, and I'm thrilled to have left my small contracting business behind. I don't know. Maybe the dull mood is just from the huge change of moving back home and switching jobs, even though contracting never was my passion.
Ah well, the least I can do is pick up coffee and muffins for the team. Hopefully that will give us an excuse to hang out in the workshop a bit longer. Maybe do some long-term planning.
As I approach Acorns Café, I see a young lady carrying a guitar case in one hand and a battered umbrella with the other. The poor thing is getting drenched. Pulling up beside her, I roll down the passenger window. "Excuse me, do you need a ride?"
She shoots me a glance, likely checking to see if I'm someone she knows or a total stranger. Fair.
The rain lightens up enough for me to focus, and my mouth falls open as I take in the most beautiful girl…ever. Perfect, bee-stung lips. Soft, melted chocolate eyes. Flowing golden brown hair, even though it's soggy right now. It's the face of an angel…if angels ever looked confused and a bit prickly.
"No thanks," she calls out, hurrying away.
"No problem," I call back, rolling up the window.
Acorns is just three doors down, and by the time I park and jump out of the truck, the girl is headed straight for the door. I hold it open for her, throwing her a smile as she gives me a sheepish glance.
Guitar Girl doesn't take a seat. She darts to the back, waving to the owner through the window of the office. She works here?Perfect.
As I choose a table in the corner, I hope that isn't a creepy thing to think. I don't want to bother her, I just feel a deep need to know more about her. Unless of course I see a wedding ring, or she lets me know immediately she's not interested.
Ten years ago, I used to date quite a bit. I had women flinging themselves at me every time I turned around. I'm not an idiot – I know it was only because my family is relatively wealthy and well-known around town. The dating pool in a small town is limited. Guys who know what they want out of life and are good prospects, that a girl's parents would approve of, are in short supply.
So I guess I was a "catch", there it is. Or, at least, was. Now that I'm twenty-nine and returning to Oakton to work on myfamily property, my goals in life are hazy again. Except for the immediate goal of getting the breathtaking girl with the guitar to chat with me a bit.
She comes out of the back with freshly brushed hair, tying on an apron, and chatting for a moment to one of the other girls. Now that her coat is off, I can get a better look at her. And by "look", I mean stare open-mouthed and wide-eyed, like a cartoon character whose jaw has just fallen to the floor with a clang.
She's luscious. Large, soft breasts that I need to lose myself in. Ample hips that my hands ache to grab. A body that triggers every lusty thought I've ever had, combined with a sweet, pretty face that makes me need to snuggle her and make her every care disappear.
As one of the older farmers in the area used to say, I'm already "ass over teakettle."
When she reaches my table with a menu, she gives me a sheepish smile. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude, but?—"
I hold up my hands. "I understand. You were almost here. Plus, jumping into trucks with strange men is kinda sketchy." As she sets down the menu, I offer my hand. "Dash Oakley."
Her beautiful lips quirk up in a slight grin. "Bridget Smith."Bridget. What a perfect name for a perfect girl. Elegant, and slightly old-fashioned.
She looks me up and down. "Yeah, I figured you were one of those."
I chuckle. "One of those damn Oakley boys?"
"No! One of those darn lumberjacks who tracks mud into the café," she giggles, smacking me lightly with the menu. Then she pauses. "There's a country song in there somewhere. Dirty boys with their muddy trucks and their coffee mugs."
Laughing with her, I admire the golden highlights of her hair, and the way her eyes are a sweet honey brown in this light."Most country songs mention whiskey, and I'm not that sort of lumberjack quite yet."
"Good. Do you need some time with our extensive menu?" she teases. The café has basic sandwiches and breakfast fare, all hearty and home-cooked.
"Coffee, cheddar and herb omelet, whole wheat toast."
"No home fries?" Her eyebrow raises. "A health nut, I see. Okay then." Her adorable sass is just making her even prettier.
