She didn't respond, just clutched her purse tighter and angled her body away from me. Great. Now I was the creepy guy accosting strangers in bus stations.
A soft laugh came from somewhere behind me.
I turned around, and the world stopped.
She was standing near a pillar about ten feet away, phone in hand, watching the whole disaster unfold. Dark hair framing her face, falling in loose waves past her shoulders. Soft curves beneath a simple sweater and jeans. Full lips curved into an amused smile, and eyes—god, those eyes—warm and teasing and kind all at once.
Prettier than her photos. So much prettier. The pictures hadn't captured the way she held herself, the quiet confidence in her posture, the spark of humor in her expression as she watched me make a complete ass of myself.
Something shifted in my chest. Not attraction, though there was plenty of that. Something deeper. Recognition. Like I'd been wandering around lost for thirty-five years and just now found the road home.
"I'm guessing you're Kross?"
Her voice was soft, a little husky, with a hint of a drawl I hadn't noticed in her texts. I opened my mouth to respond and nothing came out. My brain had short-circuited somewhere between her smile and the way she said my name.
"Yeah." The word came out rough, and I cleared my throat. "I'm Kross. And you're Sydney."
"I am." She tucked her phone into her back pocket and closed the distance between us. Up close, she smelled like flowers. "Don't worry about being late. I figured there was a mix-up somewhere."
"I swear I checked the date."
"Technology." She shrugged, still smiling. "It happens."
She was letting me off the hook, and I didn't deserve it. I'd left her stranded in a strange town for over an hour on the first day we'd ever met in person. Most women would've been furious. At the very least, they'd have made me grovel. Sydney just looked at me with those warm eyes and told me it was fine.
"Let me get your bag," I said, spotting the small suitcase near the pillar where she'd been standing. I grabbed it before she could protest, hefting it easily with one hand. "Truck's outside."
She fell into step beside me as we walked toward the exit. "That was pretty smooth back there, by the way. The part where you poured your heart out to a complete stranger."
"Yeah, well." I held the door open for her, squinting against the afternoon sun. "Figured I'd warm up on someone else first. Get the awkward out of the way."
Her laugh was even better than her smile. Light and genuine, no trace of meanness in it.
I loaded her suitcase into the truck bed and opened the passenger door for her. She climbed in, and I caught myself staring at the way her jeans fit before I forced my gaze away.
Get it together.
By the time I settled into the driver's seat, my heart rate had almost returned to normal. Almost. She was right there, close enough to touch, and I still couldn't quite believe she was real.
I started the engine and pulled out of the lot, pointing us toward Wildwood Valley.
"So," Sydney said, settling back in her seat and turning to face me. "Tell me about this town of yours."
I glanced over at her—the afternoon light catching her hair, her eyes bright with curiosity, that little smile still playing at the corners of her mouth—and something settled in my chest. Certainty. Bone-deep and unshakable.
I was going to spend the rest of my life with this woman.
But first, I had to get her home.
2
SYDNEY
The mountain roads wound higher as Kross drove, and I found myself relaxing into the worn leather seat of his truck. The tension I’d been carrying for weeks—months, really—started to loosen with every mile we put between me and that bus station.
“Wildwood Valley’s about thirty minutes from here,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “Figured I’d take the scenic route. Give you a chance to see what you’re getting into.”
“I’d like that.”
