Page 44 of Ewan

I look at him, even more frozen than before.

Would it kill him to talk like normal people do? To simply ask me if I wanted to do this?

“Where are we going?” I ask when he ignores my defiant attitude, opens the door, and picks up my bag and bottle of wine. “Is there anything else you need from your car?” he tosses at me, handing me my stuff and holding the door.

“No. The key is in the ignition.”

“As it should be. No one is gonna steal your car. Trust me on that one,” he says in a fatherly voice. “Now move. I have to be someplace else,” he says, heading toward his truck.

This would be the moment to take my defiance to that place where I’d do something stupid, like refusing to go with him andwaiting for the towing truck to arrive while freezing to death, or maybe going back and getting help at the venue.

But the thought of his comfortable big truck, despite his questionable attitude, makes me step on my pride and follow him.

“Are you gonna be okay?” he throws at me, a few steps ahead of me. “Walking in those shoes?”

Yes, I’m fine.

No, I’m not fine.

I test the frozen snow with the tip of my shoe, already swinging my arms in the air to maintain my balance.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me,” I say, taking small, comical steps while ruining my shoes.

He glances at me over his shoulder and catches me just when I try to catch myself and stop myself from tumbling forward and face planting into the snow.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he mutters, spinning around and coming in hot.

I stop, not knowing what to expect from him when, without wasting any time, he slides his arm behind my legs and picks me up like I’m a feather.

“Oh…” I chirp, instinctively winding my arms around his muscular neck.

As weird as it seems, this is probably the first smidgen of comfort I have experienced this evening.

He moves with ease, carrying me like I’m a love letter.

“Open the passenger door,” he commands, and I do that, making a sacrifice as the handler is arctic cold against my touch.

He pushes the door with his shoulder and deposits me on the passenger seat. I couldn’t have been more right.

His truck looks and feels like a palace, with room for legs, a pleasant scent of cologne and mints, and the temperature perfectly adjusted to fight off the merciless cold outside.

The dashboard is lighted, the engine purring, the windshield clean. The inside of his car is clean. It looks like a private jet, and as much as I don’t want to go gaga over his ride, it’s hard not to, considering my experience with my car.

He hops in and side-eyes me.

“You good?” he asks, as I work on fastening my seat belt.

“Yes. Thank you,” I murmur when his hand slides over mine, and he finishes the job for me.

10

SCARLETT

I must say,I’m not used to being taken care of. That has always been my job, and it’s also how I earn a living.

I’m always the one who knows more than anyone else and helps everyone else.

I’ve been like this since I can remember. In fact, I don’t remember being anything other than that.

---