Page 46 of Ewan

“The house with the big lit elves on the front lawn.”

Saying nothing, he drives his truck to a full stop, and I stay still for a second, not knowing what to do.

I’m home.

I should be happy that I’m home, but I’m not.

Despite being moments away from a hot shower, a stack of soft pillows, and some resting sleep, restlessness nips at the edges of my awareness.

I’m absolutely sure he and I will never cross paths again. Despite him having some weird connection to Colley’s cousin, this was a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence.

Everything in this man’s attitude tells me he doesn’t want to have anything to do with me. It’s like he has something against me.

You rarely see men so clear about what they want, and he surely knows that he wants me out of his truck and on my way.

“Well… Thank you for giving me a ride. It was nice of you to do that for me and help me with my car.”

I pick up my bag and grab the bottle of wine before tilting my gaze to him, expecting a reaction.

“Sure. No problem,” he says with the enthusiasm of a bus driver waiting for the last passenger to climb out and get lost. “Anytime,” he adds in a curt voice.

That was gratuitous.

We both know he doesn’t mean it.

“Uh-huh,” I toss at him in return.

We couldn’t like each other less even if we tried.

I push the door open and proceed to slide down.

“Can you do it?” he asks on a second thought.

“Yeah, yeah. I sure can. I’m always fine when I climb out of a huge truck and wear a pencil skirt tight as a condom,” I joke, and no one’s laughing.

“Stay put,” he says, and his clothes rustle as he slides off his seat.

He rounds his car and pulls the door to the side before sliding an arm under my legs and looping the other around my waist.

I fall into his chest and quickly steady myself against his strong arms, as this is probably not the smartest move for two people who want to stay away from each other.

I’m no longer cold, and I no longer complain about this eventful night. He doesn’t seem to want to let me go, and I don’t seem to want to rush toward my place.

His eyes gleam, cold, catching the light of a lamppost, but to me, they still look like the most mesmerizing eyes I’ve ever seen.

“Do you want to come inside?” I say. Smiling, I tilt my chin toward the house, still wrapped in his arms. “Maybe you’ll tell me your name?” I say with humor, but my joke falls flat, garnering no reaction.

He doesn’t outright refuse me, so I insist.

“Perhaps you want a cup of coffee before hitting the road again,” I murmur, searching his eyes as he seems sunk in thought.

“Okay,” he says dryly, and this suddenly feels like the biggest accomplishment of the year.

His arms slide away before he closes the door behind me, turns the ignition off, locks his car, and follows me to the entrance.

“It’s not a big place, and I’m still working on it. I started this project last summer, redecorating and everything.”

I usually talk nonsense when I’m nervous, and it’s no exception now.

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