More Than I Could (5)

“If I tell you how far I have to go, you’re not going to stalk me, are you?” I ask, hoping to get a grin out of him.

I don’t.

“No,” he says.

“That’s a shame.”

A streak of surprise flashes through his eyes, making me laugh.

“I’m kidding. Don’t panic,” I say half truthfully. “I’m going to Peachwood Falls. That’s close to here, right?”

“How the hell did you get out here if you’re going to Peachwood Falls?”

“Chris.”

He snaps the cap back on the jug and heads back to his truck. “Who’s Chris?”

The hint of irritation in his voice is fascinating. I could tell him who Chris is—the name I gave the navigation system after I chose the sexy Australian accent to give me directions. But admitting that feels slightly like defeat.

“Oh, Chris is a guy helping me get to Peachwood Falls,” I say. “He told me to turn on this road to save ten minutes, which was obviously bad advice.”

“Chris was setting you up for failure because this way isn’t gonna save you ten minutes. It’s probably gonna cost you fifteen—twenty if the road isn’t washed out.”

In his tone, there’s that warmth again, a thread of what might be concern. It’s curious and slightly adorable—in a moody kind of way.

I smile. “All men set me up for failure. That’s why I’m thirty years old, alone, and childless.”

He tosses the empty jug into the back of his truck and then leans against the tailgate. Surprisingly, he seems vaguely interested, so I keep talking.

“From what I’ve read, it’s subconsciously intentional on my part,” I say, wiping a strand of hair out of my face. “I choose to have relationships that I know won’t work out because it’s my comfort zone—which is odd because there’s nothing comfortable about it.”

I tug on the sides of my shorts—shorts that end at a spot my grandmother would’ve said is highly inappropriate for public consumption. Shorts that Grandma would’ve also said are inappropriate for this time of year. Not the proper attire for Indiana in the fall.

He keeps his gaze glued to my face as if he’s oblivious to the length of my bottoms.

“Come to think of it,” I say, “you stopping to help me is the most romantic thing anyone has done for me in a long time.”

“Don’t get the wrong impression.” He shoves off the truck as if he can’t possibly stand still a moment longer. “There’s an easy solution to your problem, you know.”

“My problem?”

He stops just out of reach. The green in his eyes hosts a spattering of gold flecks as he gazes down, deciding what to say.

Energy crackles between us. My heart pounds. I don’t know this man, which is not lost on me. Still, I don’t move or feel compelled to put distance between us.

“Stop giving your time to unworthy men,” he says, his voice softer. “Don’t entertain clowns, and you won’t have to go to the circus.”

I rock back on my heels.

What did he say?

Is a man being logical?

Did I just fall in love?

“Car repair, romance, and inspiration? You could charge big money for this,” I say, smiling.

He dips his chin and turns away, heading back to my car. As soon as he’s a step away, my entire body sags. Oof.

My palms sweat around my brush and phone. He runs his tongue around the inside of his cheek as I approach him at my car door.

“So you’re headed into Peachwood Falls,” he says, redirecting the conversation. “What for?”

“I’m staying at The Ridges tonight. I start a new job this weekend, and I’m making a pit stop before I go on tomorrow.”

“I hope you get directions from someone besides Chris.”

Laughter topples from my lips. I think he wants to laugh, too—but he doesn’t.

“Peachwood has a bar that moonlights as a restaurant when the sun is up,” he says. “It’s across the street from The Ridges. So if you’re hungry, make sure you get a sandwich before it closes because there aren’t any other options until dawn.”

Is he serious right now?

His grin grows a smidgen at what must be the shock on my face.

“Relax,” he says. “There are big box stores on the highway a little ways out of town. They have everything.” He pauses. “Grab some pepper spray while you’re there.”

“Pepper spray?”

“Someone will take that hairbrush from you before you even swing it,” he says, nodding at my hand.

How did he know I was going to use this as a weapon?

My heart flutters at his consideration. “Be careful. That almost sounds like you care.”

“I don’t.” He nods toward my car. “Now go ahead and give it a try. Let’s see if it starts up.”

I climb into the car and press the brake. My finger touches the ignition button, and my car comes to life. No steam.

“So you do know what you’re doing,” I tease.

He flashes me the tiniest of smiles.

“Get the hell out of here,” he says, swatting a lightning bug as it flies in front of his face. “I’ll wait and make sure you get turned around. Then call the rental company and force them to figure out your car. I can’t believe they let you drive it off the lot like that.”