Page 40 of How I Love You

His lips quirked at the edges, but his response was careful, measured. “Of course I do.”

“And don’t you like tellin’ the client about it? Letting them know you’ve found what they’re looking for?”

He shrugged again. “Yes, but that doesn’t mean I’d want to make it known beyond that.”

“Maybe you’re a bad example,” I teased, giving him a playful nudge with my elbow. “I feel like there’s certain people who like the thrill of the chase but love the praise that comes after they succeed. Know what I mean?”

He turned his head toward me, giving me a sidelong glance that made my heart flip. “Which one are you?” he asked, the question soft but teasing.

I rolled my eyes, unsure if I even had an answer. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” I shot back, though the look on his face made me wonder if that even made sense. Judging by the way his lips twitched into a half-smile, he wasn’t going to call me out on it. I cleared my throat, moving on quickly before I embarrassed myself further. “Anyway,” I said, eyes dropping to the papers again, “we should probably head on over to Shifty’s place. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry in advance.”

Tucker’s brows lifted, his curiosity piqued. “For what?”

“Um… You’ll see.” I tried not to smile too wide, knowing exactly what Tucker was in for and feeling a little guilty about not warning him more.

But where’s the fun in that?

13?/?

tucker

We pulled into the dirt lot surrounding what could only be described as a graveyard of forgotten objects, all stacked in chaotic heaps that reached toward the sky. It was a sprawling junkyard, the kind of place where old, rusted-out cars and broken appliances came to die. A refrigerator without a door was leaning precariously against a pile of scrap metal, and somewhere nearby, the wind whistled through the cracked windows of an ancient RV that looked like it hadn’t moved in decades. This wasn’t just a mess—it was a maze of debris, like a hoarder’s paradise, only outside.

“Are you sure this is the right place? It doesn’t look like a house,” I muttered, eyeing the mess.

“Look there,” Dakota said, jerking her chin as we rounded a corner in the maze of junk.

Sure enough, there was a house tucked behind it all, half-hidden by the clutter. The house itself was surprisingly well-kept for the state of everything else surrounding it, but it was clear whoever lived here had a different definition of "organization" than most people.

The yard was cluttered with rusted tools, old tires, and random trinkets. There were buckets and cans stacked inhaphazard piles, and several wind chimes made from what looked like old silverware hung from the porch roof, swaying lazily in the breeze. It had all the telltale signs of a hoarder, but underneath all that, the house itself looked solid.

“Now you see why it’s good I’m with you,” she said with a satisfied smile, her voice laced with amusement.

I shook my head, taking in the chaos that surrounded us. “I’m beginning to. And is this also why you apologized in advance?”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “You wish.”

I hopped out of the truck, the gravel crunching beneath my boots as I made my way to her side. Her hand was already on the door handle, ready to get out herself, but when she caught my eye through the windshield and figured out my plan, she put her hands up in mock surrender as I pulled the door open for her.

“Well, I’ll be. They breed Southern gentlemen in the Rocky Mountains?” she teased.

“Don’t you mean ‘in them there hills?’” I deadpanned, trying to suppress the grin tugging at my lips.

“Oh, you’re funny. Just wait,” she shot back.

I huffed, feigning annoyance, though her laugh was already working its way under my skin. It was the kind of laugh that made me want to hear it again, and as much as I tried to push that thought aside, it nagged at me.

Why did I care? Why was I even thinking about it? More importantly… how was I supposed to stop this feeling before it got worse?

“Who goes there?” A gravelly voice called out from somewhere within the labyrinth of junk, interrupting my thoughts.

“Shifty, it’s Kota!” she called back, turning in a slow circle as she scanned the surrounding piles of junk for any sign of the man.

“Who’d ya bring with you?” came the gruff response, closer this time.

Dakota shot me a look—a warm, playful smile that I knew spelled trouble. “This is what I apologized for,” she whispered, her eyes gleaming.

“Huh?”

---