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There’s a sparkle in his eye. “I know, but then I wouldn’t have been able to open the door for you.”

I hold my tongue because I’m quite sure he could have leaned over to pop the passenger door ajar for me. I’ve had plenty of experience with that.

“Thank you,” I say, realizing that we’re only standing a foot apart and he’s slightly in the way of me getting in, but I don’t mind in the least.

“What’d you grab?” he asks.

“Half-caf.”

“Can’t go wrong there.” He holds out a hand to take them. “Here, you hop in and I’ll pass them to you to put in the cup holders.”

“Thanks,” I say, watching him put both in one hand.

“What?”

Oh my, I’m blushing.

“Nothing,” I squeak. In an attempt to avoid a no doubt awkward conversation, I quickly step into the cab of his truck. Even in my embarrassment, something about this seat is feeling more and more comfortable. It’s a silly thing to be thinking, especially right now.

“Okay,” he says, drawing out the syllables. Our fingers touch as I transfer them to the holders and the best kind of shiver rolls through me. My door shuts and Tommy makes his way around and gets into the driver’s seat. As usual, he smells amazing.

“You have everything you need?”

“Yep,” I reply, knowing my cheeks are less red at this point. I hope so.

He turns on the radio, playing country music at a low volume so we can talk about our days as if we didn’t text every few hours. Everything is easy. Comfortable.

Well, it’s comfortable when I avoid looking at his hands.

What the heck has gotten into me? I’m not someone who has ever obsessed over the size of a guy’s thing, so why do I keep thinking about Tommy’s?

He clears his throat.

“I’m sorry, did you say something?” I ask, seeing that we’re already parked.

“No, you seem to be deep in thought.”

How embarrassing.

“How long have we been here?”

“Not long,” he says with a smile. “But you’re okay?”

I breathe in, letting that cedar and garlic smell center me. “I’m okay, truly.”

I leave off the fact that I’m now curious what his, well, his penis looks like. If I want to see it, I better get used to at least thinking the word. It’s not like I have to say it.

I snort out a laugh, imagining myself asking Tommy Landen if I can see his penis.

“Did I miss something?” he asks, a curious look on his face.

Busted.

“Um, nothing, just remembering something funny from work.”

“Uh-huh,” he says skeptically, watching me a little longer.

I squirm under his gaze until he puts a knuckle under my chin so I’m looking him in the eye.