Page 6

six

Slate

That kiss was a mistake.

I tell myself this as I follow Mitchell's son back to his truck. The parts for Eleanor are in the bed of his pickup—a new radiator hose, some coolant, basic tools I'll need for the repair.

But all I can think about is the softness of Jordyn's lips, the small sound she made when I pulled her against me, the way her body fit perfectly against mine.

A mistake. A complication I don't need.

"You need a hand with the install?" Mitchell's kid—Ryan—asks as we reach the end of the cabin's driveway.

"I got it," I reply. "Thanks for bringing the parts out."

He nods, helping me unload everything. "Storm did a number on the roads. Still clearing some downed trees on the main highway, but this stretch should be passable now."

Good. The sooner I can fix Eleanor, the sooner I can put distance between myself and this cabin. Between myself and Jordyn.

Ryan leaves, and I stand for a moment, tools and parts at my feet, staring down the road where my truck waits. I should head there immediately. Instead, I turn and walk back toward the cabin, telling myself it's just to let Jordyn know I'll be gone for a few hours.

The truth is more complicated.

She's on the porch when I round the corner, hair pulled back in a ponytail now, looking more natural than when I first saw her at the truck stop.

Something about seeing her like this makes my chest tighten in a way that has nothing to do with physical attraction and everything to do with something far more dangerous.

"Got the parts?" she asks, eyes carefully not meeting mine.

"Yeah. Heading to the truck now."

She nods, finally looking up. "Need a ride?"

"I can walk."

"Don't be ridiculous," she says with exasperation that somehow sounds affectionate. "I'll drive you."

I should refuse. But I find myself nodding, and minutes later we're in her SUV, the silence between us charged in a way it wasn't before.

"About what happened—" we both start simultaneously, then stop.

She laughs, the tension breaking slightly. "You go first."

I stare out the windshield. "That shouldn't have happened."

"Why not?" The directness of her question catches me off guard.

"Because you're—" I struggle for the right word.

"I'm what ?" she challenges. "Too spoiled? Too privileged? Too much of a 'princess'?"

There's an edge to her voice, and I realize I've offended her.

"That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?"

The truck comes into view. Jordyn pulls over but keeps the engine running, turning to face me.

"You've got your life," I say finally. "I've got mine. They don't exactly overlap."

"We overlapped pretty well on that porch earlier," she counters, a flush rising to her cheeks.

Heat rises in me at the memory. "Physical attraction isn't enough to build anything on."

"Who said anything about building something?" There's hurt beneath her defensive tone. "Maybe I just wanted to kiss an attractive man without thinking too much."

She has a point. I'm the one making assumptions, creating complications that don't necessarily need to exist.

"Fair enough," I concede. "But I'm leaving as soon as I fix my truck. You're heading back to your life in a week. That's the reality."

She looks at me for a long moment, then nods. "You're right. I'm sorry if I made things weird."

"You didn't," I say, reaching for the door handle but pausing. "For what it's worth... it was a good kiss."

A smile tugs at her lips. "Just good?"

Despite myself, I feel an answering smile form. "Fishing for compliments, princess?"

"Maybe." The playfulness in her expression is a welcome return to easier territory.

I get out of the SUV, grabbing the parts from the back. To my surprise, she turns off the engine and follows me to the truck.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Watching you work," she leans against a nearby tree. "Unless that's too distracting?"

It is distracting, but not in a way I'm willing to admit. "Suit yourself."

I pop Eleanor's hood and get to work, falling into the familiar rhythm of mechanical tasks. The work centers me, brings me back to practical reality.

But I'm acutely aware of Jordyn watching me, her presence like a physical touch even from several feet away.

"How did you learn to do all this?" she asks after a while.

"My old man," I reply, loosening a clamp. "He was a mechanic before he started driving. Taught me the basics when I was a kid, said a real truck driver knows how to fix his own rig."

"Smart man."

"He had his moments." The complicated relationship with my father isn't something I usually discuss. Yet I find myself adding, "He wasn't around much. The road was more important than home."

"Is that why you became a trucker? To understand him?"

The question is too perceptive, hitting closer to home than I'm comfortable with. I focus on tightening the new hose. "Maybe at first. Stayed because it suited me."

"The solitude," she says, remembering our conversation from the storm.

"Yeah."

We fall silent as I finish the installation. The work is done in less than an hour, which means there's nothing keeping me here anymore. I should be hitting the road immediately.

But when I close the hood and turn to face her, something in her expression makes leaving feel impossible.

"All fixed?" she asks.

"Good as new."

"So you're heading out." It's not quite a question.

I wipe my hands on a rag, wrestling with what I want versus what I should do. "That's the plan."

Jordyn nods, disappointment flashing across her face before she hides it behind a smile. "Well, it was nice meeting you, Slate. Safe travels."

She turns to head back to her SUV, and I watch her go, something urgent building in my chest. This is the moment—the clean break, the return to normalcy, the sensible choice.

"Jordyn."

She stops, looking back. "Yes?"

"It's getting late," I hear myself saying. "Probably not smart to start a long haul at this hour. Could call my client, let them know I'll be there first thing tomorrow instead."

Hope lights her eyes. "You could do that?"

"Already pushed the deadline," I admit. "One more night won't make much difference."

It's a rationalization. We both know it. But the smile that breaks across her face makes the potential fallout seem worth it.

"I was going to make dinner," she says. "Nothing fancy, but there's plenty for two."

One more night. Just a few more hours in her company before reality reclaims us both. It's a dangerous indulgence, but as I follow her back to the SUV, I can't bring myself to regret the decision.

Tomorrow I'll leave. Tomorrow I'll be sensible.

Tonight, I'm allowing myself this one deviation from the solitary path I've chosen. And the warmth in my chest as Jordyn smiles at me feels suspiciously like something I've been avoiding for years.