Page 30 of Run for the Money

To my surprise, she laughs. “I’m a damsel, I’m in distress, I can handle this. Have a nice day.”

She punctuates the pronouncement with a two-finger salute that leaves me as confused as her words.

“Huh?”

“You don’t recognizeHercules?Disney? You must’ve had a bleak childhood, Nick.”

You’re one to talk, I think. I know better than to say it out loud, though.

I hold my hand out to her. “In the truck, please.”

“Please? I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say that word,” she says, but she takes my hand anyway.

She climbs easily into the truck, despite the high heels. I ghost my hand over her lower back anyway, in case she loses her balance. But I don’t want to put her in my truck; I want to tuck her into my arms until the tension falls away from her shoulders.

“Oh, uh, where should I put these?” Melanie asks, holding up the geraniums I agonized over, then forgot to take inside.

“They were going to be a gift for your mom to help me make a good impression, but something tells me they wouldn’t have changed much,” I say. “You can keep ‘em.”

“Aw, thanks, that’s so sweet of you,” she says sarcastically. “Pity flowers.”

I shut the door with an eye roll, but as I cross in front of the truck to get to the driver’s side, I notice her ducking her head down to smell the bouquet. A bead of sweat rolls down my spine, even though the temperature’s dropped close to freezing. Having her in my passenger seat, holding flowers, and wearing my jacket has reignited my meatball-brain date fantasies. It’s going to be a long drive.

She gives me her address, and I take off. It’s not quite bats-out-of-hell, but I don’t dawdle. The first few minutes go by in silence—externally. Internally, the meatball and I are having a lively debate.

Put your hand on her thigh while you drive. She’s probably cold,the meatball says.

I keep my hands tight on the wheel, because if Melanie is cold, she knows how to work the heat in my truck.

She’s pretty sad. Just yelled at her parents. Probably needs a hug.

Melanie has hugged me exactly twice. A third hug out of nowhere wouldn’t be an expected part of this partnership. Plus, I’m driving.

She’s pretty, too, not just pretty sad. Pull over and tell her how pretty—with your tongue, in her mouth.

I’m not pulling over. I’m driving her directly to her home, then leaving her there. Untouched.

Her home…where her bed is.

Melanie is going to sleep there alone tonight, because I. Am. Not. A. Meatball.

“Didn’t think to give me the heads up that you’ve been living a double life before sending me in to face the firing squad?” I ask in an effort to distract myself.

“I didn’t realize they’d bethatupset,” she says. “When I quit, they said they wanted me to be really sure about the decision to throw away all those years of work, so theymade me swear that if I quit, it was for good. I…I couldn’t stomach getting back on a horse after Diana’s accident, so it seemed like an easy thing to promise. It wasn’t until college that I missed it so much I started riding again. I was waiting for the right time to broach the subject…I guess I never thought I’d have to, until you came along.”

And that right there is why I can’t keep hugging her and holding her hand and listening to the stupid meatball between my ears. I’m a disruption in Melanie’s life, not part of it.

“Sorry about that,” I say.

She shrugs. “Not your fault. I wasn’t a fan of their reaction, but I’m glad it’s all out in the open now.”

I glance at her. It’s hard to gauge her expression in the flicker of passing streetlights, but she’s more withdrawn than usual.

“Are you okay? Seriously—that’s not small talk. Are you going to be alright?” I ask.

She snorts. “Totally. They make a big deal about me living off my trust, but it’s not even their money. It’s their parents’ money.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

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