“Do you have anything warmer than…” His eyes flick over me, taking in my shorts and thin cotton sweater.
Was it my imagination, or did his eyes linger on my bare legs?
“In the car.” I move toward the driver’s door of my car. “I guess I’ll follow?—”
“No.” His hand shoves the door shut before I’ve hardly even opened it.
I turn to him, startled. “What are you?—”
“Leave your car,” he says. “You’ll ride with me.”
“But my…” It’s not much, but my little hatchback is pretty much all I have left in the world. That, and the few duffel bags stuffed in the back.
“It won’t make it up the mountain roads,” Holt says, his voice softening when he sees my expression. “Not in this storm.”
As if the weather is listening, the wind kicks up, and the rain starts hitting harder, sharp and cold against my skin.
I know he’s right, but I hesitate anyway, my fingers tightening around my keys. Going with him feels like crossing a line I didn’t even know was there five minutes ago. I don’t even know this man.
And yet…
My dad trusts him.
That thought settles something inside me. Dad doesn’t trust easily, but he’s always spoken about hisbrotherslike they are theonly people in the world he’d trust his life with—or his daughter’s life.
“We better hurry.”
Holt’s voice snaps me from my thoughts as he moves to the back of my car. Without asking, he pops the hatch and hauls out the two bulging bags I’d only barely managed to wrestle in myself. He makes it look effortless.
I watch while he tucks them behind the seats of his truck, then turns back and offers me a hand.
I don’t hesitate this time. My fingers disappear into his, his grip warm and solid as he helps me climb up into the massive vehicle. The scent of pine clings to him, surrounding me.
It does strange things to my head.
Maybe it’s just because it’s been a long day.
Inside the cab, it’s warm and quiet compared to the storm starting to rage outside.
Holt moves quickly, and in an instant, he’s sitting next to me, starting the engine and pulling out into the street without a word.
The silence stretches as we leave my car and the town behind.
The truck is big, but the cab feels toosmall all the same. I’m painfully aware of how close we’re sitting.
His hands on the steering wheel are strong and steady, the hands of a working man. Everything about him feels substantial. Like he’s been carved from the very mountains we’re surrounded by.
My gaze drifts over to his thick, denim-clad thighs, taking up so much space. His eyes are on the road, so he doesn’t notice me looking.
This is not the man I met as a child all those years ago. The man who starred as my teenage crush for so many years.
That version of Holt had been safely distant. A perfect fantasy I’d shaped in my mind over the years after one inconsequential visit to my dad when I was only twelve years old. And far too impressionable.
But this man sitting next to me doesn’t feel safe at all.
This man isveryreal.
I steal another glance at him and the sharp line of his jaw, the way his brow furrows slightly as he navigates the rough road. He looks like a man who knows exactly who he is. And doesn’t apologize for it.
