Page 12 of The Romance Adventure

A car horn blares and a stream of vehicles formed behind the BMW during this ordeal.

She gets in the truck and closes the door. Through the window, she says, “I owe you again.”

With a dread-induced scowl, I say, “No. Please no. I don’t want to ever see you again. Not even if you offer to buy me a muffin, a breakfast taco, or an island.”

She laughs like I’m joking. “Are you following me? Because I’m dangerous with jugs of paint.”

I have no idea what that means, but I say, “And smoothies.”

“Drive safely.”

“Don’t crash into anyone.”

But I don’t think she hears me because I also get into my car.

The GPS says I’ll get to Coco Key in eight hours. Good thing this BMW goes fast because I plan to shave some minutes off the ETA. The thing is, I don’t want to spare another second thinking about how Strawberry Shortcake made my pulse stop and what that could mean.

Not that I’ll ever see her again.

Nope. I’m good at leaving. It’s what I do.

Except now. I’m returning to a place I pledged never to revisit. I just hope the past stays dead and buried because that’s not something I want to dredge up.

Isla

CHAPTER 5

Still wearing my paint-splattered overall shorts and tank top—though let’s be real, most of my clothing has paint on it—I woke to the low rumble of diesel engines before I remembered where I was and why.

Truck.

Gas station.

Florida.

After a quick refresh in the bathroom, I thought I was dizzy from déjà vu. Standing at the self-serve coffee station was none other than Mr. Muffin.

Because I’d spent an unhealthy amount of time etching his lean figure, strong muscles, and chiseled face in my mind, I’d recognize the guy anywhere.

Like an overtired, overwhelmed, and under-caffeinated weirdo, I tried to conceal myself in a holiday display—thanks for not taking it down, folks, otherwise I would’ve been out in the open.

The problem was, the guy’s situational awareness meter is finely tuned. He must’ve sensed me in the vicinity because no sooner did I think I was in the clear, did he pivot left to right, barely giving me enough time to conceal myself behind a boogie board.

I don’t ordinarily try to go incognito, but I have to preserve the shreds of my dignity, and my current state—raccoon eye makeup, truck bed head, and yesterday’s clothes, make me fit for neither man nor beast.

Seriously, as I exited the bathroom, I spotted a woman in the full-length mirror and gave her a wide berth.

Yeah, it was me.

After paying for a gallon-sized icy coffee beverage and a breakfast taco, I thought I could scuttle out, undetected. But no, Mr. Muffin and I had to exit at the exact same time.

Our hands brushed on the door, something inside me fluttered like I might get a case of the hiccups, and my pulse jumped.

Weird because I hadn’t even sipped my sweet, creamy coffee concoction yet. Then my truck got all kinds of fussy and Mr. Muffin just had to be all handsome in the fresh dawn and swoop in to my rescue before zooming away in his sports car.

I create a list of all the reasons why I shouldn’t give the surly, cocky guy another moment’s thought. Of course, my brain and body alternate with reasons why I should—namely, that he’s incredibly handsome.

Also, a little voice whispers about how he diagnosed the coolant issue. Another counters that it was an act of charity out of necessity because I was blocking him in.