Page 30 of The Cost of Forgetting You

I jerk my head around. “Hm?”

He lets the handlebars come back to a neutral position, bringing us to a stop. One eyebrow lifts. “If you’re going to operate the thing safely, you’ve got to pay attention.” Releasing one of my hands, he delicately taps my temple. “Where is your head at?”

I’m hoping he writes my resulting blush off as a symptom of the early morning heat.

I clear my throat. “What did I miss?”

“I said”—he places his hand back on mine and pushes us forward—“you want to run at full throttle for the best cut. It’s easier on the engine and keeps it consistent.”

I nod like I understand, but I’m still struggling to pull my mind out of the gutter. I’m dizzy from the pendulum of my thoughts. One second I’m reminding myself how badly he hurt me all those years ago. The next I’m thinking about the fact that his dick is pressed against my ass.

And either his cell phone is in his front pocket, or he’s at least a little happy to have me on his lap. Though the thick ridge pressing into me feels anything but little.

I cough abruptly, choking on my own inappropriate thoughts.

We’re approaching one of the live oaks dead-on. The engine rumbles loudly, drowning out the next words out of his mouth.

“What?” I say loudly, my voice hoarse.

He leans forward till his lips brush the shell of my ear. “To turn, you have to pull the handlebar toward you for the direction you want to go. So to turn right”—he tugs at my right hand and, subsequently, the handlebar—“you pull on the right. And the same with the left.”

We carve a wide arc around the tree. I suspect we could cut closer, but he’s erring on the side of caution with me on board. Or he doesn’t trust me not to crash what is likely a very expensive piece of equipment into the tree. Unclear.

He guides me through a few passes of the front yard. We leave clean lines in the grass, far nicer than any I could’ve done on my own. Not that I’ll ever admit it.

I find my heart squeezing tight in my chest despite myself. If he wanted, he could’ve come over here and commandeered the whole thing. But he knew I wanted to do it myself. So instead he’s giving me the tools to do so. Once I get the proper footwear.

I glance at my feet where they rest between his much larger ones as we come to a stop back where we started.

“And that”—he opens the handlebars—“is lawn mowing 101.”

The fact that I don’t want to get up is exactly why I have to. And fast.

I put a healthy three feet between us before turning back to him, one hand cupping my other elbow. “Thanks. You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to.”

His smile is genuine, and genuinely confusing.

I close my eyes and breathe deep, willing my nerves to settle. And my hormones. The more I try to figure Truett out, the less I understand anything between us. Why help me now, if he hated me enough to abandon me back then? Why abandon me back then, when the look in his eyes betrays thoughts that feel like anything but disinterest?

Why help my dad, if not for his mom?

I could sit here and let my thoughts run in circles all day, or I could go inside and get some actual work done. After a long, cold shower. And a few blueberry pancakes.

When I open my eyes again, Truett’s watching me. And I can tell that he’s not just looking but really seeing. And that, more than anything else, gets my butt into gear.

“Dad’ll be up soon, so I better go.” I grab the handlebar of the push mower and start rolling it back into the shed. “Thanks again.”

“Anytime, Delilah.”

I lock the shed back and turn to leave, giving the mower—and Truett—a wide berth. He reaches out for me as I pass, though, and with his long, muscular arms, makes purchase. I glance at his hand where it encircles my forearm. Even after he releases me, I feel it there, warm as the sunshine on my skin.

“I wasn’t kidding about spending time with you, by the way.” He bites his bottom lip, releasing it slowly. “There’s so much I don’t know, so much that’s happened…” His gaze levels with mine. “There’s just so much. But I’d like to make it less.”

I shake my head. With some space between us, I’m coming back to my senses, albeit slowly. And my senses remind me of all the reasons spending time with Truett is a very bad idea.

“Thanks for the lesson, Tru.” I take a step away from him, letting my gaze drop to avoid the disappointment there. “See you later.”

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