Anders laughs under his breath as we set off across the drive to the car park outside the barn.
“I didnotmean that to sound as rude as it did.” I’m mortified, but desperate to explain. “The last thing I need is my dad playing matchmaker. Heknowsthat my head is in no place for a relationship right now, not after my fiancé ditched me for someone else, and, oh God, I’m not saying that I thought you were interested in me!” I say hastily, my cheeks flaming. “I’m sure you’re not.”
This is going from bad to worse, but the fact that he’s showing absolutely no sign of being offended is telling. Hedoesn’tfancy me, I realize. That’s why he doesn’t care whether or not I fancyhim.
“No, I’m not,” he confirms, giving me a sideways smile as we approach his bike.
I didn’t think hewasinterested in me, but my stomach still lurches at his admission, at the fact that he felt he had to make it clear.
We come to a stop on either side of his bike and I can barely look at him, I feel so humiliated.
“My mother and I had that exact same conversation after the storm,” he confesses, and my eyes lift at his tone. He’s no longer laughing. “I’m also in no place for a relationship.”
I hesitate before confiding, “Casey said you lost your wife a few years ago. In a car accident.”
He releases a long breath. “It was four years and four months ago, and it was a go-karting accident.”
My heart squeezes. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’ll be honest with you. I am nowhere close to letting her go. And it sounds as though you’re still struggling to come to terms with what your fiancé did to you.” He pauses, waiting for my confirmation, which I give to him by nodding. “But if you want a friend...”
“Even after I made you crash your bike?” I ask weakly, somehow finding it in me to joke with him.
“I forgive you,” he whispers.
We smile at each other, but I feel oddly hollow as he climbs onto his bike.
“I’ll come by with the tractor tomorrow. Help get your little Airstream cleaned up.”
“I’d love that. Thank you.”
“And I still need to know how you got into architecture.”
“I’ll bore you with it another time.”
He laughs and kick-starts his engine, lifting his hand at me as he turns onto the dirt track.
However much I try, for the rest of the day, I can’t stop replaying his words inside my head:I am nowhere close to letting her go.
18
Anders checks I’m free before turning up at four o’clock the next afternoon with Jonas in his dusty black truck.
“Jonas had them at the garage,” Anders explains when my face lights up at the sight of the tires in the cargo bay. “I think these are the right size. Thought we’d tick off a job and then it’ll be supereasy to tow her down to our place.”
“This is amazing. Thank you,” I say to them both as they lift the tires out, arm muscles bulging.
I’m not quite over my embarrassment of yesterday, or the disconcertingly strong sense of disappointment about Anders’s rejection, but he isn’t acting awkward, so that helps. I need to move on.
“No problem,” Jonas replies, slugging a big black bag over his shoulder and wheeling one of the tires round the back of the barn. Anders bounces the other across the gravel.
As the caravan is single-axle, it only requires two tires, although I’ll also have to replace the spare at some point.
“Have you been to the hospital today?” I ask.
“We went earlier,” Anders replies. “Pa’s doing well, but he’s sleeping now. Ma wanted to stay with him.”
“I’m glad to hear he’s on the mend. What can I do?” I ask as Jonas gets a jack out of the bag.
