Rory rolls her eyes. “I saw you talking to him before we went out on Hanson’s boat. On the beach last night. And I’m assuming he was at the party you snuck out to?”
“Maybe,” I admit, impressed by her deductive skills.
Rory’s brilliant, but I didn’t think my summer fling would rate on her radar.
“You’re meeting him alone?”
“I trust him,” I say simply. Trusted him before he waited three hours to have a conversation he clearly didn’t want to have, but even more so now. “He’s nothing like …” I hate saying his name, but that’s not why I hesitate. I pause because I’m struck by a different word that fits better. “Anyone. He’s nothing like anyone I’ve ever met.”
“It won’t end well, Wren,” Rory warns.
I wave her caution away. “It’ll end after tonight. We’re leaving tomorrow.”
My sister sighs and heads for the front door. “Mom changed the alarm code,” she calls over one shoulder. “It’s Dad’s birthday now.”
“You’re my favorite sister!” I say, then skip to my waiting car.
I parked it as far down the driveway as possible earlier,andI remember to turn off my lights before rolling through the open gate. I’d make an awesome spy.
I slept during the last trip to the marina, so I start the GPS after flicking on the headlights. I’m relieved to see the arrival time estimated at 11:52, then wince at my own eagerness. If I hadn’t run into Rory, I’d have been even earlier.
I feel a little better when I see the truck parked in the marina’s lot. I doubt anyone else is hanging around at this hour. Also, it’s exactly what I picture Sawyer driving. Sturdy and practical and a little rough around the edges. The bumper’s a lighter shade of blue than the navy paint, like it was replaced more recently, but it’s otherwise in decent condition. No dings or rust marks.
I park one spot over from the truck, then glance left. Sawyer is slouched in the driver’s seat, ball cap pulled low and fingers drumming on the steering wheel.
I climb out of my car, waiting for him to do the same.
He doesn’t. Sawyer glances at me, the closer corner of his mouth curving up. I still have yet to see a full smile from him, but his little smirks give me heart palpitations, so that’s better for my cardiac health.
“You’re early,” he comments.
“So are you,” I retort, resting my elbows on his open window.
Sawyer straightens, turning the key in the ignition. His truck rumbles to life, the engine’s vibration sending reverberations up my arms. “Get in.”
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
“Why don’t we take my car?”
“Because you don’t know where we’re going.”
I consider that, then open the door.
“Finally,” Sawyer mutters.
I ignore his impatience, focused on surveying the interior of the truck. The leather seat is worn, duct-taped in a couple of spots, and there’s sand in the footwell. But it’s pretty clean overall. No trash or smelly sneakers.
I hoist myself up, shut the door, snap on the seat belt, and glance at Sawyer expectantly.
His jaw’s a perfectly straight line as he studies me, settled in the passenger seat.
“I’ve never ridden in a truck before,” I tell him.
“Why does that not surprise me?”
I roll my eyes. “For that comment, I’m not going to compliment your choice of vehicle.”
