Page 4 of Road Trip With Her Daddy Protector (Love Along Route 14)

Gus

The morning sunlight is relentless, streaming through the windshield of my battered truck, highlighting every speck of dust on the dashboard and every thought I’ve tried desperately to bury.

Lola sits quietly beside me, staring out the passenger window at the passing blur of Georgia pines and rural farmland.

The tension between us is thick enough to suffocate.

I haven’t stopped replaying last night in my mind—the soft warmth of her body beside mine, her delicate fingers brushing against my skin, the gentle innocence in her wide eyes when she whispered that she wanted me. It nearly broke every last ounce of my self-control to deny her.

I’m her protector. Her father’s best friend. She’s twenty years younger than me, too young, too innocent, too perfect. She deserves a man who can offer her a future, not some worn-out ex-soldier haunted by a lifetime of regrets. But damn if she doesn’t make it impossible to keep my distance.

“Are we stopping soon?” Her soft voice breaks through my thoughts.

I clear my throat, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “We’ll stop in Cusp Hollow. It’s just ahead on the Georgia border. Figured we could use a break, something nice for a change.”

She nods slowly, her fingers twisting nervously in her lap. “Sounds good.”

I glance at her, noticing how the hem of her floral dress inches higher up her thighs as she shifts in her seat. My jaw tightens, and I force my gaze back to the road. This is torture, pure and simple.

Cusp Hollow greets us with a quaint, welcoming charm.

The main street is lined with buildings straight out of an old postcard—brick facades painted in pastel shades, wrought iron lampposts draped with baskets of blooming petunias, and American flags gently fluttering in the warm breeze.

The heart of the town is a wide park square, dotted with benches and statues of historic figures, shaded by towering magnolia trees.

I park near a small diner, the hand-painted sign above the door reading "Maisie’s Café" in elegant cursive. Lola steps out of the truck, smoothing her dress down her thighs, completely unaware of how every move she makes tests my resolve.

Inside, the diner is filled with locals chatting over coffee, the scent of bacon and fresh biscuits hanging deliciously in the air. A cheerful woman greets us with a wide smile and guides us to a cozy booth in the corner.

“Coffee?” she asks warmly.

“Please,” Lola replies softly.

“Yes, ma’am,” I say, barely able to tear my eyes from Lola long enough to acknowledge the waitress.

Lola opens the menu, biting her lower lip in concentration. “Everything looks so good.”

“Order whatever you want,” I say, clearing my throat. “We’re not in a rush today.”

Her gaze lifts to mine, blue eyes brightening slightly. “It’s nice here. Peaceful.”

I nod slowly. “Thought you could use a break from…everything.”

She sighs softly, eyes dropping to the table. “Thank you, Gus. For everything.”

I shift uncomfortably. “You don’t need to thank me. I told your dad I’d look after you.”

She glances up sharply, eyes serious. “Is that really all it is? A promise to Dad?”

My chest tightens. “Lola, don’t?—”

“Here you go!” The waitress interrupts cheerfully, placing mugs of steaming coffee before us. “Ready to order?”

Lola orders pancakes and eggs, and I choose biscuits and gravy, suddenly desperate for anything that will distract me from her piercing gaze and the complicated feelings I can’t seem to shake.

Breakfast passes quietly, punctuated by brief, cautious conversation. Once finished, I suggest we walk through town, hopeful the fresh air will clear our heads. Lola eagerly agrees, and we step out onto the sunlit street.

Cusp Hollow feels like stepping back in time, peaceful and unhurried. We wander toward the town square, passing quaint boutiques with colorful awnings, antique stores boasting window displays of delicate china and old books, and a candy shop with jars of sweets lined neatly in the windows.

At the center of the square stands a grand statue of a soldier, cast in bronze, his expression stoic and dignified. Lola pauses, her hand shading her eyes from the sun as she gazes upward.

“He looks strong,” she murmurs.

I move closer, unable to stop myself. “They usually are. Soldiers, I mean. But strength isn’t always about muscles or battles won.”

She glances at me curiously. “What’s it about, then?”

I take a deep breath, fighting to keep my voice steady. “Survival. Protecting what matters. Sometimes strength is about doing the hardest thing—even when it tears you apart.”

She searches my eyes, hers softening. “Is that why you keep pushing me away?”

I grit my teeth, torn between wanting to pull her into my arms and needing to keep distance between us. “You deserve better, Lola. I’m trying to protect you, even from myself.”

“What if I don’t want to be protected from you?” she whispers.

I turn away abruptly, unable to trust myself around her vulnerability. “Come on. There’s more to see.”

We continue our walk through town, past neatly trimmed lawns and white picket fences. We stop by an old stone fountain, water gently bubbling from its worn surface. Lola dips her fingers into the cool water, smiling faintly.

“It’s like something out of a dream,” she says softly.

“It is,” I agree, though I’m looking at her, not the fountain. The sunlight catches in her hair, illuminating the strands of gold threaded among the darker waves.

We spend the afternoon slowly exploring, stopping briefly in shops to look at trinkets and handmade pottery.

Lola relaxes bit by bit, the tension easing from her shoulders as she becomes engrossed in the town’s simple charm.

But my own tension only worsens, awareness of her presence growing sharper with every passing moment.

As the afternoon sun begins to dip lower, casting golden light over the streets, Lola glances up at me, her expression more relaxed than it’s been in days. “Thank you for today, Gus. It’s helped—being here with you.”

My throat tightens, heart hammering in my chest. “Glad it helped.”

She hesitates, her voice quiet but determined. “You can’t push me away forever.”

“I have to,” I say roughly, meeting her gaze. “It’s the right thing.”

She steps closer, determination flashing in her eyes. “What if it’s not?”

“Lola—”

“I’m tired of running from what I feel,” she whispers fiercely. “Aren’t you tired too?”

Her words land like a punch, and I take a shaky breath, every instinct screaming at me to pull her close, to give in. “More than you know.”

She lifts her chin defiantly. “Then stop fighting.”

“I can’t,” I whisper roughly, barely holding on. “Not yet.”

Her eyes hold mine, understanding softening the defiance in her gaze. She nods slowly. “Not yet. But I won’t stop waiting.”

I force myself to step back, breaking the moment before it breaks me. “We should go.”

We walk back to the truck in silence, both of us carrying the weight of unspoken words. But as we leave Cusp Hollow behind, heading back to the uncertain road ahead, one thing is clear—I won’t be able to keep pushing Lola away forever.

And part of me doesn’t want to.