Chapter 8
[Neve]
NEW YEAR’S EVE
Nine months ago
“Hey.” Feet crunched over the snowy pavement covered with coarse sand, an all-natural alternative to salt. “Hey, Rosie. Wait.”
I smiled as I slowed my pace and spun to face him.
Driver. Goodness, he was handsome. Like he defined the term. A little too pretty and polished, contrasting with the racecar driver getup, which made him all the more intriguing. I really wanted to follow through on all the flirtatious foreplay, but I had somewhere I had to be. A promise to myself.
“Where are you going?” His breath came out in a foggy mist. The winter air was brutal around the holidays.
Neither of us wore a winter coat. Me, because I thought I’d make a quick dash from truck to house and back. Him because he’d clearly chased me.
The thought was a refreshing one. Not that I haven’t had equal parts cat-and-mouse with one-night stands and short-term situations in the past, but I hadn’t had someone outright run after me in a long, long time. If ever.
“I . . .” I wanted to tell him, but I didn’t think he’d understand. “I just have somewhere to be.”
“Got a boyfriend?” His brows creased, puzzled by the thought, because we’d been flirty with each other for over two hours.
“No.” I chuckled, feeling the cold rustle over me.
“A husband?” His eyes widen, almost comical and cartoonish. He had striking eyes, mesmerizing ones. Brown in color, but that hardly did them credit. They were rich, soulful, almost peaceful to look at. Calming, which was silly to consider.
“No.” I laughed harder, the winter air blanketing my cheeks and fingers, even though they were tucked in my mechanic’s bib pockets. I shifted side to side in an attempt to stay warm.
I love a good costume party and couldn’t pass up the opportunity when Fisk invited me.
I recently did some engine work on a boat for him, and we were friendly business acquaintances.
Fisk is sweet, if a bit rough around the edges.
He looks almost grizzly with a full beard and wild hair, but he’s more like a teddy bear when you know him like I do.
Plus, it’s New Year’s Eve, and I could not be a sad sap and sit home alone.
As far as a costume party went, I dressed how I dress most days, minus the grease and sweat.
“Got kids or something? An ailing parent?” He waved toward me, grappling at reasons for my hasty exit from a New Year’s Eve party before midnight.
The last suggestion hit hard. My dad had been gone for five years, but it never got easier. He never ailed. Just passed from a sudden heart attack. Unlike Mom, there was no time to prepare. He was just here and gone. Poof!
His loss lingered long after his passing, and it was part of the reason I needed to leave the party early.
Driver’s face softened. The divot between his brows was more concern than scowl. “And it’s none of my business.” He pursed his lips and moved them side to side, holding back further inquisition.
“None of those things either.” An uncontrollable shiver rippled up my spine from a rush of air that came out of nowhere and quickly passed.
He tipped his chin toward the line of cars parked near Fisk’s place. “Let me walk you to your car. It’s freezing out here.”
I hesitated, thoughts racing. What I needed to do wouldn’t take long. Just a few minutes, tops. Still, I wanted to be there instead of here at midnight.
Miss Charma said wishes worked best when moving from one portal to another. Midnight marked crossing over to a new day. And in this case, an added bonus was the beginning of a new calendar year.
She was so hocus pocus, but I was desperate. I’d do anything if it worked to give me what I wanted.
“Want to come with me?” I had no idea why I invited him, other than I was not ready to let him go.
There was just something about him. Something that made me bold enough to tease him about his outfit with a pinch of sexual innuendo. His easy response was playful, non-threatening, and refreshing. He never left my side earlier. He was sweet yet awkward. Nice, for lack of a better term.
Something else about him was his apparent connection to Landon, which reinforced that he wasn’t a complete stranger, and I was safe with him.
Then, there was this strange chemistry that swirled around us. One that had my curiosity piqued.
If he could handle a little intermission to our verbal foreplay, I could pick up on the other side of my mission and complete this night in a different way.
His brows lifted, forehead furrowing, but then his expression eased. “Yes. I’d love to come . . . with you.”
Ah, that teasing nature again. He was quick, and we’d been at it all night with the innuendos and comebacks.
I chuckled, and with my shoulders hunched from the cold, I tipped my head and spun for my truck, picking up the pace as the freezing temperature settled into my bones.
I was visibly shivering as I set the key in the driver’s side door.
The truck was old enough that it didn’t have remote gizmos and gadgets like modern vehicles.
A hand crank for the window. An actual key for the ignition. A physical gear shift.
The age also meant it would take more than a few minutes to heat up. I leaned across the bench seat and popped the button to open the passenger door.
“Holy fuck, is it cold,” he said, slipping into the passenger seat, the door creaking in the frigid air and closing with a soft slam. He blew into his hands before he asked, “How old is this thing?”
I smiled as I turned the key in the ignition, then cranked up the heat, spitting a blast of cold air into the cab.
“1975.” I tugged the gear stick into reverse to exit my parking spot. “It belonged to my dad.”
A thick lump clogged my throat; however, I forced a smile.
The Ford Bronco was a washed-out green color with white trim over the wheel wells and along the roof and windows.
She was a beauty, and my dad and I worked hard to restore her.
I shouldn’t be driving her in the extreme cold temps and risk winter salt damage, but the night was special.
“I inherited it from him,” I further explained.
His head swung in my direction, the silence more comforting than awkward. I hated when people said, I’m so sorry for your loss, like it eased the pain. Nothing erased the absence, and I appreciated that he didn’t address it. He simply let me be.
“So, where are you taking me?”
“Worried I’d lead you to my lair and eat you?”
“Ah, so many opportunities in that question.”
A new shiver ran down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold still lingering in the Bronco.
Earlier, when our hands met, there’d been this weird crackling sensation in my palm and up my wrist. When he caught my fingers before I could pull them back.
I didn’t want to shake his hand like our meeting had been some business arrangement, but I also wasn’t a hugger.
I enjoyed a hug, but I didn’t pass them out casually like others did.
Plus, a hug felt too simple for the feelings that swirled around inside me.
The second I entered Fisk’s house, I’d been drawn to Driver. The attraction was almost magnetic.
“Actually.” I licked my lips. “I’m headed to the well. Are you familiar with it?”
He snorted. “Uh, just a little bit.” His eyes squinted, and he glanced out the side window.
“What do you know about it?” When I entered the party, I did not recognize him.
Lovewell Landing was small, and Fisk had friends from all over.
I chalked up the lack of recognition to that explanation.
He was an out-of-towner, possibly a flatlander.
Still, it didn’t mean he didn’t know about our famous well.
“I know it’s all superstition.” He rolled his head in my direction and smiled.
“Yeah, well, I’m hoping, superstition or not, that well gives me what I want.”
“Oh.” His voice hitches. “And what is it you want?”
“Now, you know I can’t tell you.”
“Why not?”
“Because then I’d have to kill you, and that is just too much effort. Plus, I’m not a big fan of blood or the cleanup that would be necessary.” And he’s too pretty to mess up.
His laugh was a sharp bark. Half you-are-funny and half you-better-be-joking.
“But seriously, I can’t say. Then my wish won’t come true.”
“I think that only applies to birthday candles.”
I softly smiled as we neared the well. An ancient tree hovered over that special water.
The giant oak still had a good portion of its leaves clinging to the long limbs and short twigs like crumbled paper.
The amber-brown color of the leaves gave the appearance of permanent autumn.
Time frozen until spring ripped away the old leaves and fresh green ones would bud.
In the dark, wintry night, the tree looked spooky. Tall and overarching, almost threatening, the limbs were black onyx against a nearly midnight sky.
“I’m still not telling you.” I gave him a playful wink.
The tree stands in a small square of land with a low wrought-iron fence around the perimeter, more for decoration than protection.
The space is on the edge of Lovewell Manor, a heritage home that’s been turned into a visitor center.
The locals never abuse this space. During high tourist times, a volunteer historian was on call to stand guard and explain the tree, the well, and Lovewell Landing lore.
While the well was originally just a strange hole near the base of a tree, the town’s founders built a rock barrier around the opening in the earth. The knee-high wall was upkept for aesthetics, not to mention, it prevented people from falling into the open pit.
“I’ll leave the truck running. I’ll be back right after midnight.”
Driver flicked his wrist, exposing a rather expensive-looking silver wristwatch.
“That’s ten minutes from now.” He lifted his head, staring at me, possibly questioning my sanity.
“I know. I’ll wait here until just a minute or two before twelve.” I reached for my phone, reset my alarm, and found a playlist to fill the time.
Then, we sat, and we waited, and the silence between us wasn’t strange. Which was strange.
I didn’t like awkward pauses in conversations, which was one reason I didn’t date.
I wasn’t a conversationalist, and I hated small talk.
When I met someone, it was either a hard and fast connection or over before it could begin.
I didn’t have an in-between speed, and I didn’t form long-standing attachments.
I didn’t need to talk to fuck, which sounded crude, but most guys didn’t care.
So, the silence was different. He tipped his head back, eyes on the ceiling, and listened to the low volume of a sultry song that might have been a little too sexy for the moment.
A strange twitch came over my skin. Like a tickle more than an itch. A need to rub my flesh against his. To feel his hand again, and maybe other parts of him.
When my alarm suddenly blared, his head snapped forward, and I flinched, giggling awkwardly at the break in whatever had been swirling around us.
Other than a heated truck cab, low music, and an undeniable attraction.
“I’ll be right back,” I stated, pressing open the door and leaving the Bronco running, only briefly considering he might steal the truck and ditch me.
Instead, he pushed open his door.
“You don’t need to—” I held up a hand to stop his approach.
“I won’t be in the way.” He waved toward the well and followed me the few short feet to the low rock wall surrounding the water.
I stared down at my phone, the modern device a stopwatch, counting down the seconds while I stood next to that ancient, sacred well.
This is ridiculous. The thought whispered through my head.
But my next thought was something Miss Charma always muttered.
“Down the well one went, a true love you’ll never forget.”
The saying could be interpreted in so many ways, but I focused on something else she’d say.
“The well will always bring you what you need.”
What I needed was a way to save my dad’s garage. A way to fix our troubled finances and keep Rusty’s Wrecks. I only had a year; technically, even less.
We had a five-year plan, and that fifth year had begun. We were sinking, drowning actually.
My true love was that old building and the memories within it, and I didn’t want to lose it.
A blast of cold air rushed at my back, slithering up my pant legs and crawling along my spine, tickling the fine hairs at the base of my neck, and I pitched forward.
Strong arms suddenly circled my waist, tugging me into his chest. “Whoa,” he whispered.
“Did you feel that?” I questioned, certain it had all been a mistake. The wind wasn’t that forceful. And what was I thinking? Wishing upon a well?
This was ridiculous.
“Yeah,” I muttered, ignoring my own question and his ability to answer. With a gentle tug, I pulled free from the embrace and spun to face him. Loneliness washed over me next, and I shivered once more in the chilly winter night.
He cupped my cheek and met my eyes.
And then, he kissed me. The sweetest, softest kiss I might have ever experienced. Sad and simple, mirroring my own feelings.
We were alone, together.
And before he could get away, I caught the back of his neck and crushed my mouth to his, deepening the kiss. Tongue lashing forward, seeking his. Mouth opening like I could drink him in. Pouring myself into the kiss. Heating my lips with his.
Another rush started at my chilled toes and flamed up my body, nearly engulfing me.
I swallowed him in. His taste. His tenderness. This spark of something I didn’t recognize.
He shivered, and I pulled away. “Let’s get in the truck.”
Next thing, I was lifted in his arms, cradled against his chest. I let out a squeak, then giggled like a teenager. He swallowed down the tee-hee by kissing me as he crossed the short, frozen lawn.
Once at the side of the truck, I opened the passenger door, and he set me inside. I slid over to allow him to enter after me. The old door creaked and then softly slammed. A marker to start a new time clock.
I couldn’t scramble to his lap fast enough.
Although we each wore a costume that was more like a full-body suit, we wiggled out of the outfits as best we could and proved Driver did indeed like to be ridden.