Chapter 10
Bryn
It’s been a busy night, and I’m thankful I’m not closing because of it.
Walking through the swinging doors from the kitchen to the pub, bundled in my lined jean jacket and my purse slung over my body, I shove my hands in my pockets.
It’s not a long walk home, but it’s long enough that I need a jacket to ward off the evening breeze from the ocean along the cliffs.
Half of my friends are still at the table, enjoying their night off from the station, while the other half have already left. I’m not surprised Liam and Jordan, and Nate and Savanna are still there, but I am surprised that Wyatt occupies the seat he refused to give back to Liam.
He paid his bill a while ago, so why he’s still here is anyone’s guess.
When he sees me coming, though, he gets up, removing his hat like he did at the beginning of the night. His hair is even worse this time around, having spent so long under the hat. It’s tousled and mussed and slightly plastered in different spots. I don’t hate it. It’s kind of adorable.
“Hi,” he says with a nod of his head. Rather than the ear-splitting grin that shows off his one dimple, the corner of his lips only tugs up a little.
The conversation around him stops, and I can feel everyone’s eyes bouncing between the two of us. It won’t be long until Liam makes an off the cuff comment, I’d guess.
“Hi.” I pick at the lining inside my pocket.
“Savanna mentioned you walk home most nights,” Wyatt says, holding his hat over his abdomen. “I wondered if you would let me drive you home instead.”
Drawing my head back, I blink rapidly at him. “Oh.”
My gaze darts down to Savanna who looks at me with a sweet, innocent smile. Innocent my ass. She knows exactly what she’s doing, and the worst part is, she’s good at it.
Not that I hate it.
“After earlier, I just want to ensure you get home okay,” Wyatt adds quickly, and it could just be me, but it sounded like a few nerves landed in that sentence. As my eyes find his again, he shifts on his feet. “If that’s okay.”
After hearing the word twice in less than thirty seconds, I can’t help but use it a third time. “Okay.”
The childlike quality of pure joy shines through his eyes as they light up. “Great. Are you ready? Or can I buy you a drink first?”
“No,” I shake my head, gesturing to the table with my hand still in my pocket. “I was just coming over to say goodnight. I’ve got an early morning.”
“Thanks for tonight,” Nate says, giving me a nod of acknowledgement.
“Do everything I would do,” Liam quips as a goodbye.
Shaking her head, Savanna rolls her eyes. “See you next shift, unless you want to go for coffee.”
“Maybe,” I nod and give her a smile. “Night Jor.”
“Night girl. Tell Gran I said hi.” She gives a small wave.
I lead Wyatt towards the door, and as we walk, I feel his hand at the small of my back. It reminds me of the times he did it the other night, and I want to sink back into it, to feel more of it against me.
It makes me wonder what it would feel like if I didn’t have my jacket and shirt separating us. His hands were rough when we were dancing, but not in a way that turned me off. It was much like his boots—it said that he worked with them, and his calluses are a trophy of that hard work.
“The old blue Chevy is mine,” he says as we exit the bar.
There are a few people hanging out outside, some smoking, some saying goodbye.
They ignore us as we walk past them and into the parking lot, my eyes squinting to try and find the Chevy Silverado he’s talking about.
I’m surprised, to be honest. A lot of firefighters I’ve met, who own trucks, prefer a Toyota Tacoma.
It’s a stereotype, but it isn’t wrong. I like that Wyatt goes against that.
Except that I don’t see a Silverado, and the closer we get to the only blue truck I do see in the parking lot, the wider my mouth opens. Sitting towards the end of the lot is a beautiful Chevy C10 in all its classic glory.
“Th-that one?” I stumble incredulously.
“Old blue Betty,” he nods, beaming like a proud papa. “My mom loved Betty White. I swear she had Golden Girls on every single day when I’d come home from school. Named her for that.”
Well shit. Not only does he have good taste in vehicles, he has a soft spot for his mom and Betty White. Does it get better than that?
“That’s really sweet. Is she still in Montana?”
“My whole family is, yeah. Mom, Dad, and my three brothers.”
“Three?” My eyes widen, and I turn to look at him as we get to the passenger side of his truck.
“Two older and one younger,” he says, then adds with humor in his voice, “And all pains in the asses.”
I laugh. “Sounds like what I’d imagine siblings to sound like.”
“You’re an only child?”
“Yeah. It was just dad, mom, and me. My grandparents were around a lot too. My parents had lots of employees, though, so there was always someone to bug. Adults, anyway.”
Many of the winery workers enjoyed paying attention to the little girl in pigtails that loved riding her bike around and taking care of the horses in the stable.
I take a step back from the truck, admiring the outside. It’d be better in the daylight, I know, but I can tell it’s in good condition. “What year is this?”
“69.”
I glance at him, eyebrow raised. “On purpose?”
A flirtatious smirk crosses his features, his green eyes dancing beneath the parking lot lights. “That’s a third date question, ma’am.”
Throwing my head back, I laugh. “Well, considering you haven’t asked me on a first, I guess we’re a ways off from that.”
“I know how to make up time.” He tilts his hat towards me, and my stomach swims with giddiness at how his eyes glimmer with mischief beneath the brim. “And then I know how to slow it down.”
“I suppose first you need to get me to say yes,” I respond, matching his playfulness.
He shakes his head, taking a step closer. “I know you’ll say yes to the first date. It’s the second one I need to make sure I earn.”
Without realizing it, he’s managed to get me to turn so my back is to the truck, and as he steps closer, I’m forced to back up until I hit it.
I pull my hands out of my pockets, my breath coming quicker as he crowds me, his intoxicating scent invading my space.
Spicy, crisp, and musky all rolled into one.
It’s like eating an orange in the middle of a pine forest during winter.
“And the third,” I murmur, my voice betraying the way he’s making me feel right now. The swoop of my tummy, the rapid beat of my heart.
The way his bare chest from yesterday invades my mind, how he felt beneath my hands as they glided along muscles that were thick and full of power.
The tattoo on his back that I studied for long minutes but couldn’t form words about because he had me feeling so nervous.
A ranch gate, rolling hills, and a gorgeous mare.
“Unless disaster strikes, I think date three is a given if I make it to two,” he hums gravelly, his body so close to mine that his heat seeps into me. “And I won’t let disaster strike.”
“You sound so sure of yourself.”
“I’m confident.”
“Or is it cocky?”
He shakes his head, arms caging me in around the truck. “Cocky implies I’m insecure, that I have something to prove. I don’t. I believe in myself and what I see in you. That’s called confidence.”
If I could melt into a puddle at this man’s feet, I probably would. He has an air about him that says he means what he says. What he’s seeing in me, I’m not sure.
The sound of metal on metal has me glancing down at the same time something clicks, and I realize he’s just unlocked my door.
Smooth as butter, this cowboy.
He steps back, gripping the door handle, grinning at me. When I step away with a shake of my head, he opens the door and helps me in, closing it behind me. Inside the truck, I’m enveloped in his scent, and I breathe deeply as he comes around to his side.
The truck tells me a lot about the man himself. It’s completely restored and impeccably clean. Hanging from the rearview mirror from a silver chain is a firefighter shield charm with an axe, the words “Diamond River Junior Firefighter” written across it.
A full bench seat made of black leather takes up the cab.
It’s soft and comfortable, the type of seat you’d want to sit in for long drives on the highway.
Maybe through the rolling hills of Napa with wineries upon wineries to look upon.
Or the valleys of Montana with picturesque mountains jutting up on every side.
“Did you buy it like this or restore her?” I ask when he climbs into the truck.
“I did it,” he responds, running a hand over the dash behind the steering wheel. “Engine, interior, exterior. Betty went through it all.”
“Impressive. She’s beautiful, inside and out.”
“And she purrs like a damn kitten.”
A second later, he’s got her started, and he’s right.
She sounds perfect, with a beautiful hum coming from the engine.
God, if this is the care he puts into his vehicle, I have to wonder about the care he puts into other things.
Like the women he dates. Then again, I’ve had a front row seat, I think, and so far I’m as impressed with that as I am with his truck.
“So, you know how to dance, ride, and how to restore a classic truck. What else do you know how to do?” I ask him, buckling my seatbelt as he does the same.
Wyatt looks over and grins. “Fight fire.” Then he winks at me.
Freaking winks.
He did it on the dance floor, but I was too taken with his dance skills to fully appreciate the way his face hardly crinkles as his right eye closes. And I can’t help but giggle at both his answer and the facial expression. He’s ridiculous, and I like it.
“Okay, I walked into that one. What else?”
“Sounds like an after date number two question.” He laughs when I swat him playfully on the arm. “I don’t know. Lots. I really, really like working with my hands.”
I don’t miss the teasing note that indicates the double entendre.