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A dimple peeked out of his right cheek that sent my belly swooping in an entirely different way. "Unfortunately not."

"You're the oldest, aren't you?"

"Indeed I am. You can't be comfortable." His eyes flicked down to the pavement.

"I am one with the earth. It might not make sense, but if I just keep as low as possible, the elevation will stop mattering so much."

His eyes danced as he held back a chuckle. I liked that he liked my humor. I liked the buzz it gave me.

But I didn't have the time, space, or capacity for buzzing. Or swooping, if I had any chance of getting back on my feet, let alone behind the wheel of my truck.

"Just give it some time. You'll adjust. Let me buy you a sandwich. You look like you could use it."

I do not have time for buzzing!"That's really nice of you but—"

"Jackson." He stuck out his hand. "And you are?"

Now that was a complicated question. Not that I didn't know who I was, but I did go by many names. Which one did I want to give this stranger named Jackson? I decided to go with the name I most preferred and slid my hand into his big rough one. "Marley."

His head cocked to the side. "I don't think I've ever known a Marley before. That's a great name."

"Thanks. It's actually my middle name but I prefer it."

"What's your first name?"

A lot of uncomfortable feelings I didn't want to feel streaked through me, grabbing on like the claws of a red-shouldered hawk. There were several reasons I didn't choose to use my first name and most of them had to do with the pit in my stomach that formed every time I heard it. "Aurora."

"Also beautiful." His eyes swept over me again, this time softer. "But it doesn't suit you as well. It's nice to meet you, Marley."

"You as well." I slid my hand free, kind of wishing I hadn't. Jackson's hand was warm and comforting and I could use a huge heaping dose of comforting these days. "I really appreciate you stopping to help me."

His gaze flicked over me, his smile didn't falter, but it was clear as day that I confused him. "You parked outside this restaurant for a reason. I assume you're getting food. I'm getting food. We can sit at separate tables and pretend we don't know each other, or we can keep each other company for a few minutes before we go our separate ways."

He didn't give off any predator vibes. I didn't think he was trying to make a move. He just genuinely seemed like a nice guy concerned about another human being.

And I really was hungry. And a little worried that when I stood up the world would tilt slightly and I would fall, and fall, and fall forever.

"Yeah, okay. That would be nice."

He nodded once and stood up tall, reaching down for my hand. Part of me wanted to ignore the help and show him, and everyone, and myself, that I was perfectly capable of standing up on my own, but instead I took it, marveling at the swooping sensation that surged through my belly every time we touched. Why? He was just a good-looking dude with a nice smile and incredible eyes. How did that combination induce swooping? The laws of hormones and chemistry would forever confound me.

Jackson popped his hat off his head with a flourish, then held the door for me. I did not, in fact, fall. Nor did the earth tilt. Although it did spin a little, especially when I caught a whiff of Jackson. The man smelled good. Like leather, the outdoors, spice. Maybe he did just leave a ranch.

The waitress nodded us to the row of empty booths. The one on the end had three teenagers in it having a good old time with an impressive tower of jams and creamers. Two older men sat at the diner counter minding their own business. Otherwise, the place was empty. It was like my favorite diner back home, but more mountainy.

"What's good here?" I asked as Jackson slid in across from me, placing his hat on the bench beside him. The way he took extra care of that hat fascinated me.

"All the barbecue is good. Chili is fine. Salad's fine. But I stop here for the pulled pork and mac and cheese." He ran his hand through his dark hair, fluffing it up.

I was already stressed beyond my limits when I started out on this road trip, add in wrong turns, bad traffic, and now my brain and body having a proper freak-out over the sudden elevation change, and I was ready for a bottle of wine and my bed. I almost didn't even care about my big dumb book or its big dumb cliffhanger anymore.

I ordered what Jackson suggested and tried not to fidget when the waitress left us alone.

"So where are you from, Marley of the flatlands?" Jackson kept his hands on his side of the booth, his shoulders back, and his smile gentle. I appreciated how hard he was working to be nonthreatening—more than he would ever know. It was like the Universe was finally throwing me a lifeline.See, not all people are garbage!

"Florida. But not just Florida. I'm from an island. Super flat. We're talking like, three feet above sea level."

"And now you're over two thousand feet in the air."