3. Collin
COLLIN
T his wasn’t going at all like I planned.
My goal had been to drive her out of town by dragging her along on my errands—gardening supplies at the big box hardware retailer and a stop by the auto body shop to pick up some brake pads for my buddy.
But my supposed fiancée, who’d finally introduced herself as Paget, remained by my side through all of it, happily pushing the cart at the hardware store and asking me questions about my life, my childhood, my future.
I expected her to get restless. After all, she’d made it clear on the drive to Hartsville that she lived for adventure. This was far from adventure.
Instead, I’d gotten a hefty dose of what life would be like with a partner by my side—someone to keep me company as I shopped and drove and did everyday, boring things.
Only, they weren’t so boring with her around.
“I could go for a hot dog,” she blurted as we drove down Hartsville Parkway en route to the interstate.
I didn’t even have to look to know what she was talking about. Off to the right was a very popular hot dog stand.
I rarely ate out. It just seemed wasteful. Not because funds were tight—I’d just been raised by frugal parents who lived by the adage “a penny saved is a penny earned.” But going home to make a sandwich seemed so…predictable. Suddenly, the last thing I wanted to be was predictable.
That was why I took the turn. I impulsively cranked the wheel. Didn’t even flip on my blinker. It was such a last-minute decision that I saw her eyes go wide, as if it impressed her.
I’d planned to hop out and get the food for her, but I’d barely rolled to a stop when she already had her seatbelt unfastened and was pulling on the door handle.
Before I could say a word, she was gone. I froze, just sitting there, staring after her.
Finally, I climbed out, already reaching for my wallet. She was out of her mind if she thought I’d let her pay. I’d dragged her around on all my errands—buying her lunch was the least I could do.
Okay, so she’d shown up in my life without warning, but that wasn’t her fault either. Bobbi had set all of this up and given her the impression I was going to marry her. And for that, I felt horrible.
So yeah, I was buying her lunch.
I was still several feet from the stand when she turned around, a big paper sack in her hands. “I didn’t know what you like, so I got them plain—with all the condiments and packets and cups. That way you can fix it up however you want.”
That should be interesting. I looked around for a picnic table. No such luck. We could sit on the curb and eat them, but that wouldn’t be comfortable for either of us.
And that was when the word boring blasted into my brain again. Could anything be more boring than fussing over a little mustard on my vinyl upholstery? It could be cleaned off easily enough. Hell, even if it couldn’t, who cared? Maybe it was time to be a little less uptight over shit like that.
“Here,” I said, taking the bag from her.
She smiled. “Great. You take those to the truck, and I’ll get the drinks.”
Drinks. I’d completely forgotten about those. We each had a bottle of water in the cupholders, grabbed when I stopped to get gas on our way out of Wildwood Valley. But it didn’t surprise me that she might want something in a cup with a straw.
I deposited the sack of food on the driver’s seat, then rounded the front of the truck to open the passenger door as she approached with two drinks. She shook her head.
“Drop the tailgate,” she said.
It took me a second to piece it together. At the word “tailgate,” my mind went straight to a fantasy involving the bed of my truck—an image of her riding me, those big tits bouncing with each movement. Fuck. Just the thought was enough to make me damn near come in my jeans.
“Let’s sit on the back,” she said. “It’ll be easier.”
“It’s hot as balls out here.”
Immediately, I regretted the words. Hot as balls was not something you said to a lady.
But I should’ve known better. Paget wasn’t some naive little flower. Even though she said she was only twenty-three, she was more cultured than most thirty-somethings I knew. Well, the ones who hadn’t served in the Special Forces anyway. Most of the guys I knew had.
I dropped the tailgate, and she climbed up first, settling cross-legged on the edge like she did this every day. I joined her, legs stretched out, the brown paper sack between us.
She handed me a hot dog wrapped in foil. “Crinkle-cut fries too,” she said with a grin. “They had three kinds, but crinkle’s the best.”
I took the food without a word, but my mouth twitched at the corners. She wasn’t wrong.
“Hope you don’t mind sharing ketchup,” she added, setting a small plastic cup of the condiment between us and removing the lid.
She took a bite of her hot dog, then leaned back on one hand, chewing thoughtfully while she looked out at the gas station lot like it was a scenic overlook.
“This isn’t exactly what I pictured when I imagined my first real day living in the mountains. ”
“No?” I asked, taking a bite.
“Nope. I pictured sweeping views. Towering trees. Maybe a bear sighting. Not brake pads and mulch.”
“Welcome to reality.”
“I like reality.” She nudged me with her knee. “Especially when it comes with hot dogs.”
We ate for a minute in silence. Just the occasional rustle of foil, the soft crunch of fries.
Finally, she asked, “Have you ever been kayaking on Wildwood Lake?”
“Once or twice.”
“There’s a moonlight paddle tour coming up. I saw the flyer in town. It’s supposed to be gorgeous.”
“Let me guess. You already signed up.”
“Obviously.”
I shook my head, amused despite myself.
“There’s also a waterfall rappel course next weekend,” she said. “And I want to hike to the top of the mountain at sunrise. There’s this tiny little mountain market that only sells homemade jam and goat cheese?—”
I turned my head slowly to look at her.
She caught the expression and laughed. “Too much?”
“You planning to do all that in one weekend?”
“No.” She dragged out the word. “Some of it’s for next week. And the week after.”
I frowned. “I thought the deal was you’d leave tomorrow.”
She paused, then looked down at the fries between us. “I thought so too. But I don’t want to. Not yet.”
The words lodged in my chest. I should’ve told her no. Should’ve reminded her this wasn’t some vacation. That she couldn’t just bounce into someone’s life with a duffel bag and a smile and expect to stay.
But the truth was, I didn’t want her to leave either.
I looked out at the horizon, blinking against the glare. The funny thing was, none of the stuff she listed had ever interested me before. Kayaking, rappelling, cheese made from goats I’d probably have to meet first. It all sounded like noise.
But hearing her talk about it—with that breathless excitement, that sparkle in her voice—it didn’t sound so bad. In fact, it sounded kind of good. And I had to wonder, was that because the activities had suddenly gotten more appealing, or because she’d be the one doing them with me?
I didn’t know the answer. But I knew one thing for damn sure. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. Not yet.