Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
The B falling asleep with a plate of fried chicken on your lap.”
He let out a deep laugh. “I think you have the perfect amount of grandpa-core.”
“Good.”
“This is the part where you compliment me.”
“It is?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh. You look cute, Brooks.”
And he did. Cowboy hat. Boots. Shoulders so wide they blotted out the sky.
He shook his head in exasperation and closed the door before going around to the driver’s side.
“Your compliment needs work, Freckles,” he said, easily climbing into the truck.
“What do you mean? I told you that you look cute too.”
“Men don’t want to be cute. We want to be brawny and strong.”
“You are brawny, and you are strong, and I have no doubt you can crack a walnut with your bare hands. Happy?” I shot him a grin.
“Ecstatic,” he said dryly.
“You mind if I roll down the windows?” I asked. “Get some fresh air?”
“Have at it.”
The late summer air was warm, and I closed my eyes, savoring the scent of North Idaho earthy soil and sun-ripe trees. It was hard to be worried about the future when the present was so bright.
“Music preference?” Brooks asked, jarring me from my reverie.
I opened my eyes and looked at him. “Whatever you want is fine.”
“You pick.”
“I don’t think the local stations have what I like.”
“Showtunes?” he guessed.
I sniggered. “No.”
“Nothing can be worse than showtunes.”
“Celtic?”
He looked at me. “Is that your music of choice?”
“Yeah.” Embarrassment had my neck disappearing into my shoulders. “But we’re not going to find a Celtic station out here. Do you have satellite radio?”
“No.” He began pressing buttons, the static of the radio changing every few seconds until finally he stopped on a channel.
Lush sounds of a mandolin and fiddle pervaded the truck.
I grinned. “Bluegrass. Next best thing.”
He grinned back.
We passed the ditch where my vehicle should have been but wasn’t. “Looks like Milton already grabbed my car.”
“Yep. Told you. Now relax and enjoy the ride.”
I glanced at him.
Could I? Enjoy the ride?
Brooks reached across the console and took my hand.
My belly swarmed with bats. I’d never been so aware of a man before. Like his mere presence just turned on an electrical low wattage current that vibrated beneath my skin.
Our drive was silent which was both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because I didn’t have to make small talk. A curse because it gave me time to overthink.
He turned onto Silver Street, the main drag of Huckleberry Hill, and then found a parking spot across from Sweet Teeth.
Before he’d even cut the engine, I was unbuckling my seat belt. I opened the door and all but spilled from the cab.
“Ahh!” I cried out.
“Woman, for God’s sake,” Brooks grumbled. “Wait for me to help you.”
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” I assured him.
“We should think about getting you a step stool,” he said, coming around the hood of the truck to take my hand again.
“That’s ridiculous. I don’t need a step stool.”
“Yeah, you’re right. You need a step ladder.”
I mock glared at him while tilting my head back to peer all the way up at him. “Quiet, Beanstalk.”
“I’m not a beanstalk. That implies I’m skinny.”
“No, bean pole implies skinny. Stalk implies . . . not.”
Chuckling, he waited for a car to pass and then he guided me across the street. He opened the door to Sweet Teeth, and I immediately breathed in the scent of sugar, cinnamon, and coffee.
A young blonde woman was behind the counter at the espresso machine, her back to us.
“Be right with you!” she called. A moment later, she muttered, “Blast. I just can’t get this coffee art right.”
“I’m not picky,” I said with amusement.
Gracie turned and her blue eyes lit up with excitement. “What are you doing here?”
“You have the best pastries and coffee in town. Where else would I go?”
Laughing, she dashed around the counter toward me. Her eyes immediately noted that Brooks was holding my hand and then she looked at me, brows raised.
I dropped his hand so I could give her a hug.
“I thought you wouldn’t be here until Labor Day weekend,” she said, pulling back to peer at me.
“Change of plans,” I said. “I’m kind of on sabbatical.”
“Oh?”
“Tell you later,” I said.
Nodding, she glanced at the hulking man next to me. “Good morning, Brooks.”
“Morning,” he said. “I’ll have the usual. And whatever she wants.”
I looked at him. “You have a usual?”
“Black coffee,” Gracie supplied, moving back behind the counter. “It’s easy to remember.”
“Black coffee?” I asked. “That’s no fun.”
“I’m not fun,” he said dryly.
“You’re a little bit fun,” I teased.
“Glad you think so, Freckles.”
He reached into his pocket for his wallet, and I turned my attention back to Gracie, who was watching us with wide eyes and an even wider jaw.
“What?” I asked, leaning over the counter and gently lifting her chin to close her mouth.
“Nothing,” she mumbled.
Brooks’ phone rang and he fished it out of his pocket. He looked at the screen. “Gotta take this.”
He handed me his wallet and then stalked from Sweet Teeth.
Once the cheery bell jangled, signaling we were alone, Gracie said, “I’m shocked to death because that man has lived here for nearly two months and not said more than good morning, black coffee please, and thank you to me or any one of my other baristas in . . . well, ever.”
I frowned. “Really?”
“Really. That man is not chatty. But with you, he was downright verbose. Not to mention, flirty.” She pointed to his wallet. “What is this?”
“His wallet?”
“Yes, his wallet. Poet, when did you guys meet?”
“Last night.” I sighed. “It’s a long story.”
“Well, you have to find time to tell me about it.”
I snorted. “He’s taking me to breakfast, but I swear I’ll tell you the story when I can, okay?”
“Later today?”
“Can’t. My car—a rental—is at Sandusky’s and Brooks is going to take me over there to assess the damage. It’s part of the long story.”
“I’m completely enthralled,” she said. “Now, what are you drinking?”
“That drink you made for Hadley last time I was here,” I said. “But ad an espresso shot.”
“Coming right up.”
Brooks still wasn’t back by the time my drink was made, so I opened his wallet and pulled out a few bills and handed them to Gracie and then dropped the change into the jar on the counter.
“See ya later,” I said to her as I grabbed our coffee orders.
“Later,” she said with a wide smile.
A customer entered the bakery and held the door for me. I thanked him and looked around for Brooks as I stepped outside. He was a few doors down, still on the phone. Assuming he wanted privacy to finish his call, I waited out front of Sweet Teeth.
A few minutes later, he hung up and came to me.
“Thanks,” he said, taking the coffee and his wallet.
“Thank you,” I said. “Breakfast is on me.”
“I told you I was taking you to breakfast and that’s what I’m doing.” He took a sip of his hot coffee. “Hmm. Perfect.”
I grinned and the two of us headed to The Diner. Grease and fried potatoes made my mouth water and my stomach rumble. Unlike the bakery, The Diner was in the middle of their rush, and it was packed.
We stood at the door, and I looked around for an empty table, or even vacant stools at the counter, but there were none.
“Oh man,” I groaned. “I’m hungry.”
A man with a dark mustache wearing a cowboy hat stood up from a table near the back of the restaurant. “Brooks! Over here!”
I looked at Brooks in confusion.
He looked down at me and sighed. “I’m sorry.”