Page 12 of Forget Me Not

“Little bird, I wouldn’t need to drive to kidnap you.”

“That’s comforting,” she grumbles, crossing her arms over her chest while I attempt to start the truck. It rolls over a few times, but eventually, it sputters to life and she seems to let out a sigh of relief. “And don’t call me that.”

“Why?”

“It’s rude.”

“You didn’t give me a real name,” I point out, starting down the streets toward what I assume is the direction of the hardware store.

“Nova,” she answers, finally. She looks at my face and rolls her eyes.

Little bird, keep it up. I’ll make them roll for a different reason.

“Yes, that’s my name.”

“Your parents hate you? Naming you after the island?”

“They named me after a super nova. You know, the big explosion—”

“When a star dies,” I finish before she can continue to assume I’m illiterate. “Yes, I know.”

Honestly, a girl like Nova is too smart for me. She’s beautiful. Intelligent. Witty and innocent. There’s no fucking way in hell I would ever find myself with a woman like her.

She’s also on my last damned nerve.

“So, what’s your name, then? Mike? It’s something basic, isn’t it?”

“Reid.”

She pauses for a moment, as if my name means I spit on puppies or some other bullshit like that.

“And why are you here, Reid?”

“Because you don’t know how to fix drywall.”

“You know what I mean,” she scoffs, shoving at my arm. I look down to where her hand rests on my skin as fire burns up the area she’s touched.

That’s not normal.

Instantly, her hand drops back to her lap and her cheeks flame. She looks anywhere but at me, shaking her head. “Why are you in Port Nova if you hate it so much?”

“Boat’s getting worked on here. Not much else to do but wait until it’s finished.”

“Well, Al is the best. He’ll have it in perfect shape in no time and then you can go back to your fun, exciting life on the mainland.”

If only. Maybe then I could get away from her damned perfume.

Getting her in a truck, alone, was not a good plan. Even if I didn’t know her name, her honey-vanilla scent has been burned in my brain since the grocery store. From the wild, blonde curls on her head to her eyes—the blue-green hue of the Atlantic after a storm calms—right down to the damned shorts covering the finest ass, I’ve ever seen—I can’t stop thinking about her.

And then, that fucking smile.

“Three weeks.”

“Three?” she asks, as if I’d just told her I had murdered an entire nursing home of the sweetest old people on the planet.

“Ready to get rid of me already?” She pauses for a moment, as if she’s mulling over the idea of tossing me into the surf.

“Fine. You can stay. But only because you’re helping me with this drywall.”

---