Page 3 of Relief Pitcher

“Yeah, there’s some dead spots in these woods.”

“I swear I’m not a serial killer or anything threatening. You probably don’t get a lot of randoms coming up your creepy driveway on a Saturday afternoon.”

I chuckled. To be fair, the driveway was creepy. I’d argued that when Aleck first showed me the house. He’d called it moody and gothic.

“I don’t. This could be your elaborate ruse. There must be easier ways to attempt to murder someone.” Something about his demeanor put me immediately into a teasing mood.

“I don’t have any weapons in my car except for my empty water bottle and several pounds of cheese. I’d suck at being a serial killer. I like people too much, and it sounds messy.” He angled his head and looked thoughtful. “But I would crush it at the branding. I could do that in my sleep. I could be the Brewery Basher.”

As rain dripped down my neck into my clothes, I realized what a surreal moment this was. Talking to a gorgeous guy on the road to my house while he said weird things about not being a serial killer. Had I passed out in my chair and was having a weird true-crime documentary-induced fever dream? I should cut back my watch time on those.

“You know, the more you insist you’re not a serial killer, the more suspicious I am of you.”

“That’s a fair assessment. If it makes you feel better, my name is Tyler McNeill. I’m one of the owners of Tap That Brewery in Dahlia Springs.” His smile was like a flashlight in a dark room. “Now that you know who I am, I’m far less likely to kill you.”

Is this flirting? Are we flirting? Really morbid flirting.

I’d been to Dahlia Springs quite a few times for work and had been to the brewery before. The place was great. It was nice to see a place so openly queer-friendly.

I draped my forearm on the roof of the car and leaned in. “Unless you lure your victims into a false sense of security with that info. If you killed me, I wouldn’t have anyone to tell that the owner of Tap That Brewery is a murderer.”

His assessing gaze sent heat licking up my spine. “Again, fair point.”

When Tyler shivered, I remembered I was wearing insulated rain gear. He wasn’t. “I’ve got cell service at my house. If you want, I’ll take you on my ATV, and you can call AAA from there. Or if you want to stay here, I can call for you.”

Despite trying to hold his cool composure, his shoulders relaxed. “A dry house? That would be great, thanks. Please don’t kill me. I have way too much work to do next week.” He reached for a bag on the floorboards, then paused. The flimsy jacket pulled taut against his biceps and shoulders, showing nice curves of muscle.

“I’ll come back for you. Stay dry.” He patted the bag with the Tillamook Cheese Factory logo on it.

I shook my head and walked back to the ATV. I heard his door close and wet footsteps behind me. When I turned over the ignition, Tyler stared at me with a flirty smile as he studied the seat.

“Are you waiting for an engraved invitation, or would you prefer to let the water soak into your skin?”

The smirk slipped from his face as he scrambled onto the seat behind me. I chuckled as he muttered about the rain and ATVs not having a roof like a golf cart. My breath hitched when Tyler’s warm thighs hugged my hips and his arms wrapped around my waist. There were mounted sidebars he could’ve gripped to stay upright at our modest pace. The man wasn’t shy. I had to give him that.

As I turned the ATV around and pointed us toward home, I focused on a smooth ride, not how good it felt to have his warm body pressed against mine.

Aside from condolence hugs, it’d been way too damn long since I’d touched anyone but myself. Three long, devastating years.

CHAPTER3

COOPER

I pulled under the carport next to the mudroom. “It’s unlocked. Go ahead.” I shook off my wet gear before following him inside. My attention snagged on the flash of belly skin revealed as he shrugged off his jacket and hung it on an open hook next to the kitchen door.

Three very, very long years.

“This is incredible.” Tyler stopped in front of a large slab of wood carved with a murder of crows flying over a grove that I’d placed on top of a short bookcase.

I could’ve said it was mine, described the process I used to create it, thanked him for his kind words, but instead, I froze and prayed he wouldn’t ask me who the artist was.

“I’ll make us some coffee to warm up,” I said to distract him before he could.

He beamed at me. “You sure you’re not an angel? Because that sounds heavenly.”

I snickered at his ridiculous line. The man was hot as sin and had a boyish, frat-dude vibe. That wasn’t usually my thing, but there was something about him.Something a lot like I’m lonely and he’s here.

“I’d better get this started.” Tyler pulled the AAA card out of his wallet and dialed.

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