Page 7 of When The Mountains Held Us

I curse myself for choosing this pair to throw on this morning, but the weather had promised a hot summer day, and it wasn’t like I had a whole lot of time to plan out my outfit. It was a miracle I managed to get most of my things thrown into the back of my car before I took off.

“Need me to grab anything?”

I shake my head at his offer.

“I’m good. I’ll have to catch a ride back here tomorrow to grab the rest of my things, though. Hopefully, no mountain lions decide to make a home in the backseat overnight.” I cringe, deciding that I am much too tired to even try to be funny right now. The fact that I am at ease enough with this stranger to even attempt a joke confuses me, but his low laugh confirms my initial instinct.

“I’m not sure the bobcats have ever ventured down this close to town before, but there’s a first time for everything.”

I follow him to the truck and thank him quietly as he holds the passenger door open for me.

I freeze when I examine the considerable distance I’m going to have to scramble to get into the massive hunk of metal.

Don’t forget the booty shorts.

I flip a mental middle finger at the voice inside my head and look hesitantly from the open door, then back to the man standing behind me.

God, he’s tall. And broad. In the dark, I can only make out the shape of him cast in shadows from the dim interior light, but he has to be well over six feet tall. Compared to my modest five-foot-three frame, he’s practically Sasquatch.

“How, um—” I start, completely aware of how stupid my question is about to sound.

That low chuckle sounds again, and with him standing so close to me, I swear it reverberates through my body. Not sure I have the time or energy right now to dissect the shudder it sends through me.

Nope.

Not even going to go there.

“There’s a step right in front of you just below the door.” He points down. “And then you just grab the oh shit handle and swing yourself up and in.”

“Swing myself?” I ask, not understanding how the hell I’m supposed to swing myself into a vehicle. I turn as my bag is lifted from my shoulders, but at the look in his eyes, I relent and allow him to take it from me.

With a deep breath, I place my foot on the step in front of me and lean forward into the cab, reaching up for the handle above the door. When my hand clutches nothing but air, one of his wraps around mine and guides it further up until my fingers meet the smooth plastic of the handle. The stretch causes my sweatshirt to ride up, exposing a sliver of bare skin. I don’t know if it’s the cool air or his proximity to blame for the eruption of goosebumps along my flesh.

Grasping the handle, I step up with my foot and pull up with my arm, and I do, in fact, swing myself into the truck seat. I land with a soft exhale and grin despite myself. Immediately, I feel foolish for the little spark of confidence from such a small act, but when I’m met with the man’s smile, a twin to my own, I relax my shoulders and enjoy the feeling. It’s been so long since I’d allowed myself to feel even the smallest measure of joy at the little things.

Placing my bag at my feet and making sure all arms and legs are inside the vehicle, he closes the door with a gentle thunk.

The cab of the truck is oddly comforting. It smells like old leather and cleaner, like it’s been well-loved and cared for. It reminds me of my grandfather’s old truck. Any lingering anxiety dissipates, and I settle further back into the comfortable seat.

As the man climbs in and closes the door behind him, the scent of pine, sweat, and something else washes over me again. The radio hums a low country song, and I let the music relax me as he puts the truck into drive and starts off down the road.

“So, you got a name?” he asks after a moment of silence.

“Oakley.”

“Nice to meet you, Oakley. That’s a pretty name.”

“Thanks. My mom gave it to me.” I wince and roll my eyes at myself in the dark, but his answering chuckle eases my self-consciousness. “You got a name?”

“Levi Bennett.”

Comfortable quiet falls over us again as we reacquaint ourselves with what little we know of each other in the light of the names our families gave us.

Names are such an intimate piece of ourselves. It’s the first real token of identity we have in this world. Levi suits him, and it seems impossible now for me to have ever imagined his name being anything but. He glances sideways at me as if knowing where my thoughts have gone.

“So, where to?” he asks.

I sigh. “Well, I missed my appointment with the building manager of the apartment I was supposed to be touring today, so…” I trail off, and the realization that I have nowhere to go hits me like a punch to the stomach. The few hours I spent sitting in my car mostly consisted of me freaking out about my situation and then calming myself down, only to freak out again.