Page 14 of Wrong Number, Right Mountain Man
"I'm sorry." Her hand covers mine on the table, skin soft and warm. "That must have been hard."
"Ancient history." I turn my palm up, threading our fingers together. "What about you? Besides the ex who was too stupid to keep you."
She squeezes my hand. "Josh never really saw me. Not like..." She trails off, blushing.
"Like what?"
"Like you do. Even through texts, you see me."
The honesty in her voice makes my chest tight. I bring our joined hands to my lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. She shivers.
"Tell me about the food truck," I say, needing safer ground before I do something stupid like kiss her senseless in this diner.
Her face lights up as she describes her plans, but I'm distracted by how animated she gets, the way her free hand gestures while she talks. She's still holding my other hand, thumb absently stroking across my knuckles in a way that drives me crazy.
We spend hours talking about anything that pops into our minds. Drinking copious amounts of coffee and ordering a few more slices of pie, eventually deciding on a couple of hamburgers and fries. It’s calming and arousing to be around her. I can’t remember the last time I just sat and enjoyed somebody’s company, and this luscious, curvy woman has me craving all of her time. I can’t get enough of her.
"What?" she asks, catching me staring.
"Just thinking about how badly I want to kiss you right now."
Her eyes widen, then darken. "What's stopping you?"
"Public decency laws."
She laughs, but it comes out breathless. "We should leave soon anyway. Don’t want to hold up the diner’s real estate, and we’ve been here for hours." She giggles again when she looks at her watch with wide eyes as she catches the time.
The sun is setting when we head outside, and I can’t believe how long we sat and talked. Something unheard of from me. She shivers in her thin dress, and I shrug out of my flannel.
"Here." I drape it around her shoulders, my hands lingering longer than necessary. The shirt hangs oversized on her frame, and something possessive and primal stirs in my chest seeing her wrapped in my shirt.
"Thank you," she says softly, pulling the flannel tighter. "Smells like you."
"Good or bad?"
"Definitely good." She steps closer, close enough that I could lean down and taste those lips I've been thinking about for weeks.
I grab her hand instead and let her lead me toward her car. Which looks rough with faded paint, rust spots, and definitely on its last legs.
“I had a great time today,” she says as she bites her bottom lip.
I can’t remove my gaze from her lips, but I force myself to and catch her eyes sparkling at me. “Me too.”
She gets on her tiptoes and kisses my cheek, making my skin burn with lust, before turning and jumping into her car, giving me a wink. “I’ll text you.”
She turns the key. The engine makes a grinding sound, then nothing.
"No," she mutters. "Not now."
"Pop the hood." I move to check the engine, aware of her standing close behind me, the vanilla scent of her hair mixing with mountain air.
The timing belt is destroyed, wrapped around the pulleys like a mechanical death sentence.
"How bad?" she asks, close enough that her breath warms my neck.
"Timing belt's shot. You'll need a tow."
"Of course." She leans against the car, my flannel gaping slightly at the neck. "Poor end to a perfect day."
