Chapter One #2
"Uh-huh." He leaned against his truck, studying me with those infuriatingly perceptive eyes. "Let me guess—you're the type who has backup plans for your backup plans."
"Organization is how successful people stay successful," I said defensively.
"Or how uptight people stay uptight."
Heat flashed through me. "I am not uptight."
"Right. You're just standing in the middle of the desert having a philosophical argument about car reliability instead of getting in the truck."
I wanted to argue, but he had a point. A very annoying, very accurate point.
"Fine," I said, opening the passenger door. "But for the record, I'm not uptight. I'm thorough."
"If you say so."
The interior of his truck was surprisingly clean, with the faint scent of pine and something that might have been motor oil.
Country music played softly from the radio, and there was a thermal coffee mug in the cup holder that suggested Griffin was the type who planned ahead too—he just didn't make a production of it.
As he started the engine, I found myself studying his profile. Strong jaw, focused expression, hands that looked capable of handling whatever life threw at them. There was something undeniably appealing about that kind of quiet confidence, even when it came wrapped in insufferable smugness.
"So," he said as we pulled back onto the highway, "wine sales. Competitive field."
"Very." I wasn't sure how much I wanted to share with this attractive stranger, but talking might distract me from the way his forearms flexed as he shifted gears. "I've been working in the industry for a few years, mostly at my brother's wine bar. This is my first real sales position."
"Big step up."
"Huge step up. Sparkling Oak is one of the most respected wineries in Oakcrest Bay. If I can prove myself there..." I trailed off, not wanting to sound too ambitious.
"You'll conquer the wine world?"
"I'll build something that's mine," I corrected. "Success on my own terms, not just as Bowie King's little sister."
We drove in silence for a while, the landscape gradually shifting from desert to rolling hills. Despite my frustration with the situation, I found myself relaxing slightly. Griffin seemed competent behind the wheel, and his truck was comfortable.
My phone buzzed with a text from Bowie: "How's the road trip? Found any cute hitchhikers yet?"
I glanced at Griffin, taking in the strong line of his shoulders, the way his hair caught the light. Cute was definitely not the word I'd use.
"Bad news?" Griffin asked, noticing my expression.
"Just my brother being his usual ridiculous self." I typed back "Define cute" and put the phone away.
"The brother who's going to hunt me down?"
"The same one." I studied Griffin again. "What about you? What do you do when you're not rescuing stranded drivers?"
"Like I said, search and rescue pilot. Wildfire crew mostly. Don't have time for much else. I was down in Southern California picking up some specialized equipment for my crew. Heading back to Nevada now."
That explained the competent vibe and the emergency equipment in the back. "Dangerous work."
"Can be. But someone has to do it."
Something in his tone made me look at him more carefully. There was a seriousness there, a weight that suggested he'd seen more than his share of real emergencies. It made my car troubles seem relatively minor.
"Thank you," I said quietly. "For stopping. Not everyone would have."
Griffin shrugged. "Couldn't leave you there. Besides, you looked like you were about to challenge your car to a duel."
I laughed despite myself. "I was considering it. I don't like being messed with."
"I could tell." His eyes flicked to my outfit—professional but comfortable, chosen specifically for making a good impression. "You've got that 'I will not be defeated by the world' look down to an art form."
"Is that a bad thing?"
"Not bad. Just... intense."
"There's nothing wrong with having standards."
"Never said there was. But sometimes shit happens, and you have to roll with it."
I was about to argue that point when his phone rang. He answered via Bluetooth, and Beck's gravelly voice filled the truck.
"Griffin? Got bad news about the Honda. Engine's completely shot. Even if I could get parts, we're talking a rebuild that would cost more than the car's worth."
My carefully constructed budget crumbled a little more. "How much are we talking?"
"More than you want to spend, honey. You'd be better off putting that money toward something newer."
I closed my eyes, feeling my independence slipping through my fingers. Without a car, how was I supposed to get around Oakcrest Bay? How was I supposed to prove I could handle this job when I couldn't even manage basic transportation?
"Thanks, Beck," Griffin said. "We'll figure something out."
When the call ended, silence filled the truck. I stared out the window, trying to process this latest disaster.
"I'm sorry," Griffin said finally.
"It's not your fault." The words came out sharper than I intended. "I'll figure something out. I always do."
"You know," Griffin said carefully, "I need to make a stop in Foxfire Valley first to deliver this equipment to my crew. But from there, it's only about four hours to Oakcrest Bay. I could take you the whole way if you want."
I looked at him suspiciously. "Why would you do that?"
"Because you need help, and I'm not on a tight schedule at the moment. The equipment delivery is the only thing I'm on the clock for right now."
His offer was tempting, but it also felt like admitting defeat. I'd wanted to start this new chapter by proving I could handle anything independently. Instead, I'd need a chauffeur who made detours.
"I can't ask you to go that far out of your way."
"You're not asking. I'm offering." He glanced at me. "Besides, you might actually like Foxfire Valley. It's got character."
"What kind of character?"
"The kind that comes from casinos, wedding chapels, and a bunch of rowdy firefighters all coexisting in one small town."
I studied his profile, trying to read his motivations. "What's in it for you?"
Griffin was quiet for a moment. "Maybe I'm curious to see how this plays out."
"How what plays out?"
"Whether the wine expert can survive a few days in the real world without her color-coded itinerary."
Heat flashed through me again. If he only knew. "Wine expert?"
"You said you know the industry."
"I meant the survival part."
"Oh." That crooked grin appeared again. "Maybe I just want to see if you're as tough as you act."
The challenge in his voice sent electricity down my spine. "I'm tougher."
"Prove it."
"Fine." I settled back in my seat, meeting his gaze straight on. "Take me to your cute little town, then drive me to Oakcrest Bay. But I'm warning you—I don't suffer fools, I don't do small talk about the weather, and I absolutely do not do damsel in distress."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
"Good." I crossed my arms and stared out at the landscape rolling by. "This should be interesting."
"Yeah," Griffin said, chuckling. "It should be."