His frown deepens.
Up close I can see his stern jaw and hazel eyes. His arms are crossed over his chest.
Barrel crawls over my lap, digging his claws into my thighs.
“Ow, buddy, where are you going?”
He starts barking.
The guy outside says something but I can’t hear him because of Barrel and my music still blasting. I try to shift around the bulk of Barrel.
“What?” I ask. I crack the window. Barrel instantly shoves his nose through the two inch gap.
“You need to move. You’re on the hose for the water feature.”
“What?” I repeat, not because I didn’t hear him but because I have no clue what he’s talking about.
“The hose,” he repeats, louder. “Your tire is on it. Can you please move your truck?”
Thepleaseis appreciated though he still seems like a very serious man. The please feels more exasperated than earnest.
“Oh! Right. Sure. Um…where do I go?” I ask, genuinely mystified. “There’s a car behind me now and I’m going to need to park for the whole weekend.”
And apparently leave all my furniture inside unless I want to roll my sofa through the square on my skateboard.
“Where are you going?” he asks.
“I was trying to go forward. Right there.” I point toward my new apartment over Dinky’s Diner.
“You didn’t see the Road Closed sign?” he asks, rubbing his jaw.
“No.” I genuinely did not see the sign. “Maybe y’all should have put up something bigger.”
“Bigger than that?” He gestures to what might be the biggest Road Closed sign I’ve ever seen in my life.
“I totally missed that. I was distracted by all the tents.” I smile at him. “I’m Winnie, by the way.”
His brow furrows, like he can’t decide if I’m pulling his leg or not. “I’m Ian.”
It’s a reluctant admission.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ian. I’m new to town so I’m not familiar with the roads or the festival. I’m trying to move into my new place downtown.” It feels like maybe I shouldn’t tell the broad-shouldered and a little bit grumpy stranger a more specific location than that.
I clearly have more survival instincts than Barrel, whose entire butt is wiggling back and forth as his tail wags enthusiastically. He’s trying desperately to get his tongue out of the window crack to greet Ian.
“Who is this guy? Or girl?” Ian asks, putting his fingers up to Barrel’s nose.
His tone changes with my dog. He instantly is friendlier.
My dog goes up on his hindlegs to greet Ian, and I wince as his nails dig into the cotton of my sweatpants. “This is the ever-so-handsome Barrel and he clearly likes you.”
“Barrel, huh? Is he a Bourbon lover?” He gives my dog a slow mischievous smile.
The gesture lights up his whole face and transforms him from grumpy but good looking to charming and damn near irresistible.
So much for my vow to focus on myself and avoid men for the first little while in my new town.
Though Ian is smiling at Barrel, not me, which is very apparent when he shifts his gaze my direction and the grin cools. Really cools. A bit of an arctic blast heading my way.
