Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Delaney
Over the next few minutes, we all pitch in to clean up. While I mean to leave before everyone else, somehow Henry, Tillie, and the girls finish up first and head out before me.
I grab the sweater I keep at the office—thankful I remembered to bring it with me—and turn toward Harrison.
“Thanks for a really nice night. I appreciate you guys inviting me.”
Harrison’s green eyes meet mine, his brow creasing slightly. “You’re welcome. But it looks as if you think you’re walking back to your car by yourself. You’re not.”
I open my mouth to argue, then decide it’s not a hill worth dying on.
“Okay. Well, let’s go, then.”
A few minutes later, when we’re still about fifteen feet away from my car, Teresa, I notice her telltale lopsided stance. Great. A flat tire—again.
I stop walking, and he follows my lead.
“This is far enough,” I say, trying to shoo him off. I don’t need help.
“Why?” He narrows his eyes at me, and I realize I need to act cool if I don’t want him to realize I have a flat. I ignore the voice in the back of my head asking what the big deal is if he knows. That voice is needy and doesn’t get a say.
“Remember when you said you’d open doors for me when we were in a car together?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, you’re not getting in this car. So, we can say goodbye here.”
“I wasn’t inviting myself.” He grins. “But if I were…” There’s a flirty air to his words, and he takes a step closer to me.
I push him lightly in the arm, not even enough to move him.
When I realize he’s not going to give in that easily, I resume walking.
I really want to keep him away from the driver’s side, but he makes it clear that’s not going to happen.
Instead, I do my best to block his view—trying to keep my body between him and Teresa’s poor, sagging tire.
He opens my door, so I slide into the driver’s seat and start the engine.
“Thank you for a lovely night,” I say.
“I should be thanking you. Everybody loves you. Layla says you’re cheery, like her.”
I smile. “I’ll take that as a huge compliment.”
“It was nice having you there.” His voice softens, and when I look in his eyes, there’s a look there I remember seeing once or twice on that first night we met.
He still hasn’t shut my door. Before I realize what’s happening, he leans down and brushes a tender kiss on my cheek. Then, he stands upright, closes my door gently, and steps back onto the trail.
He gives me a slight wave, and I nod in return.
I need him to leave—because I know if I start driving, the tire’s low enough it’s going to sound like a helicopter. But he stands there, hands in his jeans pockets, looking ridiculously gorgeous and watching me.
I open my window and gesture with my hand for him to go.
His eyebrows lift toward his forehead, and he shakes his head.
“Go, Delaney. I’m staying here until I see you’re safely on the road. Then you’re going to text me when you get home.”
I stick my head out the window. “You’re bossy.”
“I am your boss,” he jokes. “Anyway, you’re the one who’s bossy—and I’m waiting for you to leave.”
“Why are you being so weird?” I ask, half laughing.
“Why are you being so weird?” he fires back.
“Just go, Harrison.”
“Nope. Not gonna do it.”
Exasperated, I sigh.
Fine. I’ll have to take my chances with Teresa. Maybe it won’t be as loud this time.
Or maybe he won’t recognize the sound.
I put the car in reverse and back out extremely slowly, trying to minimize the awful noise from my flat tire. It’s still there—just not as terrible.
As soon as I shift into drive and am about to pull away, Harrison steps onto the pavement in front of me, palm face out toward me, signaling for me to stop.
“Shit.”
I put the car back in park and climb out while he walks around the car, inspecting.
He crouches down by the tire, but I’ve already climbed out of the car and am retrieving my can of Flat-Fixer from the trunk.
“You knew you had a flat—that’s why you were behaving so oddly,” he says, half-accusing.
“So, what if I did?” I mutter, twisting off the valve stem cap and attaching the can.
“First of all,” he says, straightening up, “I’m guessing this happens often since you carry that around. And second, this tire’s way too bad for that to work.”
“No, it’ll be fine.” I dismiss him.
He studies the tire, unimpressed.
“It’s pretty flat, Delaney. It’s pulling away from the rim.”
“It’s fine,” I insist.
Five minutes later, it’s still not fine.
Frustrated, I remove the can, screw the cap back on, and stand up. I walk around to the passenger side, open the door, and grab my bag. Then I make sure to roll up the windows and lock the car.
“I’ll take care of this tomorrow,” I say briskly. “You have a good night.”
I don’t know why I even bother. Deep down, I know he’s not going to let me walk away.
“What the hell are you doing?” Harrison calls. I’ve walked about twenty feet away, heading in the opposite direction.
“I’m walking home,” I call back to him without stopping. “I do it all the time. It’s easy.”
Within seconds, he catches up to me.
“Like hell you are, Delaney. I hate that you do it during the day. Why would I be okay with it when it’s dark?”
“Well, it’s not really your decision,” I say, continuing forward.
“You’ve proven your point—you can walk. But you’re not going to tonight.”
I stop walking, and relief flashes across his face. He probably thinks I’m giving in. He’s wrong.
I glance down at my watch.
“It’s eight thirty. The workday ended at four thirty. Pretty sure I’m off the clock, and you can’t tell me what to do.”
As I’m about to take another step, Harrison gently grips my arm.
“One of three things is going to happen,” he says, his voice low and calm.
It does something to me, and I feel a warmth between my legs.
“You’re going to insist on walking home, and I’m going to walk with you the entire way and then walk back by myself on a dark country road.
Or,” he pauses, his tone darkening slightly, “I’m going to throw you over my shoulder, smack your gorgeous ass, and carry you back to my house, put you in my car, and take you home. ”
My stomach flips. His words shouldn’t turn me on, but they do. Maybe it’s the timbre, or the way he’s looking at me—predatory but in a sexy, controlled way, if that’s even a thing.
“The final option,” he says, a smirk tugging at his lips, “which I highly recommend, is that you turn around, walk back with me to the house, and let me give you a ride home. We’ll sort your car out in the morning.”
I cross my arms and glare at him. He’s right, of course, but I hate admitting it.
We have a silent standoff for about thirty seconds. Neither of us moves or speaks.
Finally—because I’m tired, and only because I’m tired—I sigh and turn back toward the house.
“Fine. You can drive me home.”
“Thank you.”
“No, thank you,” I mutter.
I really didn’t want to walk all that way in the dark anyway. Not that I’d ever admit that.