Page 33

This time, I insisted on driving the first leg of the trip.

I’d drive both if Abby would let me, but I doubt it.

I wanted to see if there was anyone who followed us out of the mountain area and to the highway, which is forty-five minutes from the cabin.

I’m certainly not complaining, though. Her hand is on the back of my neck, her nails rubbing back and forth against the short hair there.

It’s a move that some would see as affectionate, but with her, it’s a display of possession.

Even though we’re alone in the car, she’s staking her claim. I love it. I love that this woman, full of fire and a don’t mess with me attitude, is allowing me to see this side of her. A side I never would have thought could exist in the same space as me.

Once we’re on the highway, I deem it safe. Putting the car in cruise control, I take my right hand and place it on her thigh. “Can I take you out when we get home?”

The hand on the back of my neck stills for a moment before her hand flies to her chest and she fakes a shocked gasp. “Why, Tatum Wilder, are you asking me on a date?” Her awful southern drawl gets a chuckle out of me.

“Depends. Is your answer yes?” My heart speeds up, and the hand on the steering wheel starts to sweat as I wait for her response.

I bring my gaze to her for a brief second before focusing back on the road in front of us.

Her lip is pulled between her teeth as she looks at me.

The things I’d like to do to those lips are certainly not safe to attempt while operating a moving vehicle.

As soon as we stop for gas, though, all bets are off .

Her lips meet my cheek before she brings her mouth to my ear.

“ Yes,” she whispers, her voice dropping an octave or two into the sexiest tone I’ve ever heard.

The hand I have on her thigh tightens, and she responds by nipping at my earlobe.

“But, you have to take me wherever we're going... on the bike.”

Oh, hell yeah. My girl likes my bike. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.” She sits back in her seat, crossing her legs as her eyebrows raise dramatically.

“Whatever I want, hmm?” For whatever reason, I find it oddly attractive that she has no problem taking exactly what she wants.

I watch as a smile crosses her face. She then leans both elbows on the center console, plopping her chin on her hands.

“I want Hibachi, then I want to go to The Beach House for exactly one margarita.” Her pointer finger shoots up before curling back to join the rest of them under her chin.

"Then, we can walk on the beach and talk about whatever comes to mind.” I look down at her smiling face briefly before nodding.

This is a plan I can get behind. It feels good to have a woman make a plan for once.

“And then,” Mmmm, I can tell I’m going to like this part even more.

How the hell am I going to make it home without throwing her in the back seat?

“I want you to take me home and feed me ice cream while you rub my butt, and tell me I’m pretty. ”

I bark out a laugh so loud it vibrates through the car.

The beaming smile on her face is the personification of how I feel inside.

Bright, airy, and full of life. A feeling only she’s been able to give me since everything went to hell all those years ago.

“You drive a hard bargain, but I think I can manage that. ”

She giggles, and my God, it’s the most beautiful sound in the world. “Can I ask you something?” I say.

She turns in her seat until her back is against the window, knees pulled into her chest, and only the lap part of her seatbelt is touching her. “Sure, I’m a pretty open book, Baby Wilder.” I pause at the nickname, normally she only uses it when she’s pissed at me.

“First of all, that’s not safe.” I point at the seatbelt. “Second, what’s your favorite color?” Her head shakes as she pulls the top part of the seatbelt across her, securing it under her arm. I’m almost positive that it's more unsafe than the way she had it before.

She lets her legs fall open so she’s sitting criss-cross in the seat. “Purple, more specifically, a mix of lilac and lavender. Pale, but still purple enough that you know what color it is without having to guess.” Leave it to her to have a complicated favorite color. “Let me guess, yours is black?”

My eyes cut to her, narrowing for a quick second, my usual scowl now feels so foreign on my face. It’s only then that I realize I haven’t scowled purposely the entire time we were gone. This woman is softening me, and she doesn’t even know it. “No, it’s actually verdigris.”

Her nose scrunches up, making a tiny bit of her teeth show from between her lips. I try my hardest to hold on to the bit, but when she says “Like the freaking Statue of Liberty?” I lose it. My hand smacks against the steering wheel as I laugh like a maniac.

How in the world does she know that? Is she a walking encyclopedia? Wouldn’t surprise me, if I’m being honest. “How do you know that’s the color of Lady Liberty? ”

She shrugs. “My brothers took me and Hannah to New York when we graduated. They told us while we were on the little tour they have. I remember Hannah and I laughed over the name for days. We kept trying to figure out how to put it into conversations.”

Her head tilts to the side as she studies me. “How do you know that oddly specific color?”

This is a side of me I hid after Nikki. It’s pretty hard to keep up the grumpy persona when you make art for fun. “I like to paint, remember?”

A blush colors her cheeks, her hands grab hold of her shins as she leans forward. “Will you paint me something?” she asks shyly, like she’s afraid I’d tell her no.

I nod, placing my hand over her knee. “Anything you want.” She starts bouncing in her seat as she claps her hands.

I get off the freeway, pulling into the nearest gas station.

When I put the car in park, I unbuckle my seatbelt, my left hand dangling over the steering wheel as I angle my body to look at the beauty sitting in the front seat.

How did I ever hate her? How did I ever look at her and not see what I’m seeing right now?

Her long blonde hair lies in waves down her back. Her light brown eyes sparkle in the sun to the point that they look fake. They’re a shade so light that I’ve never seen it on anyone other than her and two of her brothers. Her nose is perfectly symmetrical, her lips full and lush.

But it’s her heart that I’m having the hardest time with. Under all that vitriol is a woman who's been hurt and is scared to trust again. Not the hateful, full of spite, prissy princess I assumed she was. “Tink?” I say softly, she looks up from her phone, and hums. “Can I kiss you now? ”

A slow smile spreads across her lips as she leans in closer to me. “I’d be offended if you didn’t.” I close the gap, softly pressing against her. As much as I’d like to turn this into a make-out session, a gas station in the middle of nowhere probably isn’t the place. I’ll save that for our date.

I pull away slowly, watching as her eyes open, a bright, heart-stopping smile spreads across her face.

“I like kissin' you, Sunshine,” she says before she turns and pushes the door open. I sit there staring at her retreating back like an idiot before it hits me that she got out of the car. Fumbling with the door, I push it open, tap my card, and get the gas flowing. I move around to the passenger side so I can see inside the store, making sure there’s no suspicious activity anywhere near her.

And if there is, well, I won’t have to pull a superhero move and jump over an entire car.

She skips, literally skips back to the car, the bag of whatever she bought swinging from her hand.

She stops right in front of me, placing her free hand on my chest as she presses up on her toes and places a kiss to the underside of my jaw.

My hand finds her hips, gripping them tightly so she can’t escape.

“You know, you really aren’t that bad,” she says, leaving me at a loss for words.

I want to laugh, but I let the past few years replay in my mind. I’ve been a pretty big asshole to her, and to Hannah too. But damn if I don’t want to make up for it now. She steps back and heads to the driver's side of the car, my hands falling down to my sides.

Yeah, I’m going to make up for it. I’m going to make her fall in love with me so hard she forgets all the times I was less than desirable. Starting right now. “Hold on a sec!” I yell as I dart to the field next to the gas station .

One thing about being in the country where there are copious amounts of land is that there’s usually some type of flower on said land. There just so happens to be purple Azaleas here, they’re one of the first flowers I learned how to draw. I grab a handful and jog back to the car.

As I slide into the front seat, I hold the bunch of flowers out to her.

“For you, my lady.” I try my hardest to sound playful.

Her lips part slightly, eyes dancing between me and the handful of flowers like she can’t believe I’d do such a thing.

Her hand slowly wraps around the stems, her pinky brushes against my hand, sending a spark of heat through me.

She brings the wildflowers to her nose, inhaling deeply.

They don’t have the same delicate fragrance you think of when flowers are involved.

They’re spicy, lemony, and earthy, but judging by the look on her face, she couldn’t care less.

Her grip tightens around the stems, knuckles slowly turning white. My eyes trail up her arms, only stopping when I notice her eyes are glistening.

Panic courses through my veins as I jump to the worst-case scenario.

Kicking myself for not asking if she was allergic to anything before I picked roadside flowers.

“A-are you allergic?” I quickly reach across the car to take them back, ready to toss them out the window before I have to slather her in calamine lotion or whatever it is you do when someone breaks out in hives.

But before I can grab them, she turns her entire body, making herself into a human shield, protecting the flowers like they’re the most precious thing she's ever held. “NO!” The word is sharp.

She looks at me over her shoulder as a single tear slides down her cheek.

She blinks quickly as if she’s trying to make it disapp ear.

“Thank you.” Her voice is thick with an emotion I can’t quite pin down.

“No one’s ever gotten me flowers before.

Let alone picked them from the side of the road themselves. ”

She stares at them like they’re sacred, like she doesn’t quite know what to do with the fact that someone thought about her. And somehow, that messes with my head more than anything else. How? How has no one ever gotten her flowers? How has no one realized how much of a dream she is?